Become One With Canada
by Robias
Summary: As Prussia starts to fade to the point where not even his brother notice him anymore, he panics. There is one other nation who can relate to what he is going through, and Canada has a proposal that might help the ex-nation. Canada/Prussia, and others.
1. All Eyes On Me

Part one: All Eyes On Me

Word count: 2580

Genre: angst, general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Like I needed any more fuel for my love for these two, ha ha. Title from Goo Goo Dolls' All Eyes On Me.

* * *

The times he could feel that particular tug at his mind, settling like an unpleasant ache in his heart, that told him that the sand in his particular hourglass was running out, probably already _had_ run out, his response grew panicked, and when Prussia panicked, he became loud. Louder. Whatever. It was hard to forget about someone who made a living hell out of your life, wrecked your living room, hit on your boyfriend, sat fire on both your kitchen and your socks, or fed your dogs ice cream, forcing you to bring them to the vet in a frenzy in the middle of the night.

And being forgotten was what Prussia couldn't afford to be.

He knew that his days were counted from the moment that he and West – no, _Germany_ – had finally been able to re-unite in the still smoking ruins of that wall from hell. It had been a day of many emotions, and he'd seen his little brother show his fair share of the kind he'd taken a habit of showing no-one at all, not even Italy. While Germany didn't sob into Prussia's shoulder the way his smaller, dark-headed friend did, his eyes shone in a way that told the other German he wasn't far from such antics.

However, the moment was ruined by that tug.

He wasn't sure if Germany could feel it at the time (it wasn't him who was being warned of the end of his existence, after all), but he were able to tell through observation over the next year or so that the other nation certainly could _feel_ it, even if he wasn't quite aware of what it meant. There was a glow to him, a new confidence which were visible to anyone who knew what to look for (Italy sure seemed to know, because he clung closer to Germany than ever, beaming up at him and acting like a dog with a bone every time his blond companion so much as spoke to him). Germany had changed, had become _whole_, and there were no more room for Prussia. No more East and West.

But he ignored the call. How could he not? He still had too much he wanted to see in this world, too much change to be part of, there were too many new decennia to welcome with a toast and happy drunken calls in the company of friends.

So, he became louder than ever. Visited more places, met (annoyed) more people, started the blasted blog, to help people remind themselves of his awesomeness. West – _Germany_ – called him "all over the place"; England called him "a bloody nuisance", after he'd thrown him out of another destroyed pub; both Denmark and France laughed and came with him more than once; Spain smiled and told him to do what he needed to do. (At first, he'd been puzzled by that comment, but then he realized that all of his former friends probably knew at least partly what he was going through; they'd all been great empires – well, except for Denmark, but the Nordic would never admit to that – who had lost so much of themselves over the years. France had even been close to collapsing once – he remembered teasing him and laughing loudly at his "wedding proposal" to England – so that might be why he had so little against joining Prussia during his tiny crusades.)

But still, nothing he did could soften the aching feeling of _loss_, of hollowness, that grew inside him. Less and less people were beginning to recognize him as a nation (for a moment, he wondered what really happened to countries who were no longer countries; did they become human? Did they simply die? Maybe he should go ask Greece or Egypt; they'd both known their mothers, and been there at the end), and he was no longer accounted for at meetings.

Never had he thought that he'd miss those damn, drawn out and utterly boring get-togethers. But he did.

And so he grew even louder, more brash and daring, going as far as to arrange all of Hungary's underwear in a nice display on an apple tree in Austria's garden once (he'd bear the bruises from that one for quite some time), and paint Austria's piano – "It's a Bösendorfer, a _Bösendorfer_" – blue.

But still, nothing silenced the call for long.

He grew used to it in time. It became part of his daily experience, no matter how much he hated it. He started to give up sooner when some of the younger nations wouldn't recognize him, focusing on being remembered by the older ones. Even if it had to be by being the greatest pain in the ass of modern time.

Then came the day when his left pinky started acting up. He noticed it first thing in the morning; it was a strange sensation of not-there that drew his attention to it. When he noticed how the finger had taken to a quality of transparentness, he blanched. His mind went blank, and when he woke up again, his room, as well as half of the east wing in West's – _Germany's_ – house was trashed.

He wouldn't answer when his younger brother asked him _what the hell was wrong with him_, he just sat by the kitchen table, sulking, and demanded to be fed breakfast.

From that day on, he took to always wearing gloves.

It was a miserable existence, what he'd been reduced to. He was used to being colourless, that was kind of a side-effect that came with having been born albino, so he had never let the weird looks he sometimes got from the humans bother him, but when those looks started to lessen because he turned see-through, he was at a loss. He'd never been on the verge of being forgotten, and he had no idea how to deal with it when being loud and annoying didn't help any more.

There was, however, someone who had an idea.

Prussia had gotten so used to being ignored by then, that he first didn't realize that the timid voice calling out to him was, indeed, directed at him. He was a sad sight, walking the corridors of whatever building the world conferences were held at, arms dangling immobile by his side and face dark with self-pity. It took as much as a tug to his sleeve before he actually registered that someone was trying to get his attention.

"Um, mister Prussia?"

When he managed to focus his eyes on the kid before him, he raised an eyebrow. America hadn't been able to see him in _months_, so why was he speaking to him now?

He let none of those thoughts show on his face as he grinned at the younger nation.

"Yo, America! Shouldn't you be at the meeting? Not that I don't understand why you'd wanna escape that place, it's so damn boring, I keep falling asleep every time I attend."

The blond winced. "I'm not America," he said, and Prussia realized in the same moment, that crap, he was right, there was supposed to be another one, wasn't there; one with a bear and colder climate than America, and this guy was, in fact carrying a white bear in his arms. He couldn't for his life remember the name of the guy. "I'm Canada."

"Ah, right, Canada! Gotcha! So why are you running away from the meeting, then? Got that bored of seeing your bro' and England tear each other's hair out?"

Canada smiled. "That never gets boring."

Prussia laughed. This kid had humour, nice, he hadn't expected that.

"So what'cha walking these winding halls for? It's still not time fer lunch, ya know?"

"I know. I came to talk to you."

Blink. "To me?" _No one_ came to talk to him. Not even when he'd still been his own nation; they'd all avoided him whenever possible because (according to Austria, that bastard) "to get too closely involved in that fool is like signing a death treaty".

Canada nodded. "I. I'm not sure you want to listen to me, but I thought that… maybe you should know." Prussia waited for him to continue, eyebrows raised in an encouraging way (not because he cared what the kid had to say, but because he sure as hell seemed to need the extra help to get his point across. Man, how pathetic could you get?). "Well. I thought." Canada looked away. "You might want to know that you won't. You know."

Prussia crossed his arms. "I know _what_? Get to the damn point, kid!"

The younger nation made a small sound, much like a rat when you stepped on it. For a moment he looked like he wouldn't continue at all, but then he drew a long breath and met Prussia's red eyes with a steady, blue gaze.

"You won't disappear, mister Prussia. Not entirely."

What do you say when someone you've never talked to before – someone you hardly knew existed, and surely shouldn't know that _you_ existed in turn – knew your most guarded secret, your biggest fear? Prussia had no idea; he'd never had a "biggest fear" before. All he could do was to stare at this strange, timid nation and his bear, wondering if he was fucking with him. Surely, he couldn't be telling him that he knew something Prussia himself _didn't_ about this whole thing? Why would he; he was one of the youngest, he hadn't been around nearly long enough to make any empire to lose, even.

But Canada looked to serious and sincere that he had to at least feign politeness when he asked:

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Canada still held his gaze trapped. Man, his eyes were even bluer than West's, Prussia thought, and for once, he didn't care about correcting his brother's name in his mind.

"You won't disappear. Maybe you won't be a nation as big as you used to be, and maybe you won't be around your own people, but… I can offer you a place to stay."

What the fuck was he on about. If a country ceased to exist, they ceased to exist, they couldn't just _move to a new location_. Right? …right?

Canada wasn't done yet. "It's been around for ages, after all, and I never figured out what to do with it, but I thought that maybe… If you want, you can call it yours. It's named after you, after all. And I don't mind."

His voice never weakened once during this speech, Prussia noticed with quite a bit of astonishment. While the nation looked like he'd go "poof" into thin air at any moment (hell, he was even more transparent than Prussia himself had grown to be!) his voice was steady and his gaze enthralling. Prussia caught himself in the middle of not only considering the kid's offer, but actually _trusting_ that it was a true one. He braced himself, drew a deep breath, and bore his glare into the boy before him. Still, even under the full force of Prussia's red eyes, he didn't shift, he just looked back. If it was a sign of Prussia losing his touch, or the kid being a hell of a lot braver than his appearance and tone let on, he didn't know.

"Sure, whatever," Prussia said. "But I wanna see what the hell you're talking about first." _Before I allow myself to hope again_, he added in his mind.

Canada smiled. "I'll arrange for a seat for you on the plane back."

* * *

The moment he set foot in New Prussia, he could tell he'd come to the right place. There was no way he could mistake this feeling of Home. No one was shitting him; this was the land that would keep him alive. Maybe not as a nation, but alive and well, under the care of this strange, kind but strong-willed nation called Canada. They'd gone around the place (maybe a bit small, but beggars couldn't be choosers), visited the whole Township of Wilmot, greeted people (asked for tips on the best pubs), to finally end up at a hill not far from Baden. (Many of the names in New Prussia had made him laugh. Still, it gave him a strange feeling of comfort and familiarity.) He drew a deep breath of the chilly air – even in the early stages of fall, this country was colder than he was used to from back in Germany, but he didn't mind. Actually, he welcomed the feeling of crispness around him; it made the hairs on his arms stand on edge in a way he'd only last experienced in the heat of battle.

And it had been quite some time since he'd last been in a really good fight.

As Canada stepped out of the car behind him, he reminded himself that it probably would stay that way. The young nation who was now his "keeper" had a very peacefully laid policy, after all.

Turning around to face the blond, he noticed the smile on the other's face, and understood that Canada already knew. Still, he had the courtesy to ask.

"Do you like it?"

Prussia gave a nonchalant shrug, but the grin plastered on his face probably gave him away. "I'm gonna have to learn these people what 'beer' is supposed to taste like," he grumbled. "And start up one or two German schools, 'cause there's a sad lack of proper pronunciation around here."

Canada scoffed. "There's nothing wrong with my beer."

"Suuure there isn't, sugar," Prussia smirked. "And your pet doesn't know how to pick locks either. Because I so didn't leave the bathroom door wide open!"

The younger nation – or should he just say _nation_? He really wasn't one himself any more, was he? – turned his face away, but Prussia could still make out the small blush. Prussia grinned wider. Oh, so maybe he wasn't a nation anymore, but he was still around, and he would make the best of the situation. Teasing his host-country would just have to do, now that he wouldn't be staying with West any more.

He turned to face the village again. It was small, with only about 1000 habitants, but they were his habitants, and he'd make sure to teach them how to be just as awesome as they deserved to be, being his people and all. Behind him, he could hear Canada sigh lightly.

Over the next few months, Prussia learned a few new things.

Like to never leave a freshly baked Gugelkupf to cool by an open window. Canada's wildlife wasn't only bigger than Germany's; it was also a bit more prone to violence. And while Prussia was an excellent shot, he'd prefer not to have moose gutter splattered all over the floor and walls of his new home.

Like how welcoming his brother and brother-in-law (something Germany protested wildly - and a bit flaily - to, while Italy just blinked in feigned innocence) to his "awesome home" could be the best friggin' feeling in the world. (There couldn't possibly be anything "humble" about any place that Prussia called his own, after all.)

Like appreciating the simplest things like imported German beer, a taste of a bright future on his tongue, a warm evening in May, on his very own porch, watching the sun set behind high treetops.

Like how waking up to fresh pancakes and maple syrup on a regular basis was something you got addicted to pretty damn fast.

Like how Canada blushed bright red every time he got a compliment, even if it was for something as simple as his food. (Thank god the kid had inherited his cooking from France and not England. Thank _god_.)

Like how Canada blushing so prettily made strange things flutter through Prussia's mind, settling like a pleasant ache in his heart.

But that is a different story.

* * *

**Note the second:** Except it really isn't, since this developed into a multi-chapter story in two parts. First part is Become One With Canada, and it will contain around 25 chapters.


	2. Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck 1 of 3

Part two: Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck part 1

Word count: 1555

Genre: general, humour

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Un-beta'd.

* * *

About one week before it had been exactly one year since Prussia moved in, Canada said:

"Why don't you invite your family for your birthday?"

Prussia, who was occupied with dangling Kumajirou upside down from its back paws, while the polar bear growled at him, stopped laughing to stare at the nation.

"My birthday?"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "You forgot?"

Prussia stared at him. Kumajirou took the opportunity to reach up and bury his craws in Prussia's wrist. The albino swore and dropped him onto the carpet, after which the animal gave him an offended look before he walked out of the room, heading for the kitchen's specially installed cat door. After Canada had fussed over the scratch marks for a short amount of time, Prussia pointed out that he didn't have a birthday. Sure, the day he'd won the title of Kingdom had been pretty amazing, but he'd never been able to settle for one, he said, there were too many awesome days of glory in his history to pick _one_.

There was also the fact that he no longer held that title. It still stung a bit, not that he would admit that. Instead he continued with a grin that betrayed nothing of his moment of gloom:

"Just kinda figured I'd dedicate every day I feel like it to myself, y'know?"

The look on Canada's face were one of such complete confusion that he felt the need to explain, either way.

"Not one that I can remember, anyway. It's been pretty damn long, you know?"

Canada's eyebrows furrowed. "But... What about the tenth?"

Prussia's face copied his host country's expression. So did his mouth. "What about the tenth?"

"The tenth of March." When Prussia still looked like a living question mark, Canada added; "When... when you moved here."

...oh.

"...I have a birthday?"

"I guess... if you want to..."

As he thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded to him that _he, _the amazing Prussia (Kingdom or no Kingdom) didn't have a day of his own, marked as a big fat holiday when the sky poured beer upon everyone and all food tasted like wurst and käsekuchen and maple syrup... The idea was silly, completely absurd; of _course _he had to have a birthday of his own! One that people wouldn't forget, ever, because it was part of his new and brilliant history.

"...I have a fucking birthday!" he cried, flinging his arms into the air. "Presents and cake and fireworks all around!" Canada blinked, quite startled, as the ex-nation burst out in an honest laugh, and got to his feet dancing around the room as he sang "Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck, zum Geburtstag viel Glück, zum Geburtstag, lieber Preuβen" at the top of his lungs and geneally behaving like America high on sugar. But in German.

Finally, he stopped before Canada, beaming.

"We should invite _everyone_," he exclaimed. Canada smiled softly.

"I'll start cleaning out the guest-rooms."

* * *

"I didn't even know bruder had a birthday," Germany mumbled over the phone to Austria, feeling slightly guilty about the fact. "He's never mentioned it to me before…"

"That is because he doesn't," Austria replied haughtily. "I hope that you realize that he is pulling your leg, Germany. And attempting to do the same with mine. And poor…"

"Canada," Germany reminded him.

"Ah, yes. Poor Canada's as well, seeing as he's made the boy agree to host the feast for him."

While Germany protested (surely, not even Prussia could be as bad as to use the trusting, kind nation in this manner… however, he _had _spent an awful lot of time at Canada's place over the past year –much more time than he spent at Germany's place, to be honest), he had to admit that Austria could be right, and that he was a fool who still wanted to believe in his brother's ability to be nice and considerate. He wasn't always a loud-mouthed fool and he didn't always spend his days thinking of the best to make Germany's life and that of everybody else around him a mess.

Not always.

Just most of the time.

There was a huge difference between an 'ability to be' and a 'wish to be', after all.

Still, he _was _his brother, and Germany had rarely heard Prussia sound so sincere as when he'd invited him and Italy both to come stay at Canada's over the weekend. He couldn't just discard his brother's request, not when he sounded so uncharacteristically serious and even hopeful.

So in the end, he'd convinced Austria that a bit of Canada's fresh air and landscapes could do his inspiration good. Italy on the other hand didn't need much convincing at all. He'd wasted no time throwing himself into a discussion with Germany about the 'perfect gift' for Prussia. Germany just sighed and told him to do what he wished. Italy beamed and promised he would, he would think of the 'best, nicest, prettiest, simply _best _gift for Prussia'. He would!

Germany instantly regretted his words.

* * *

Germany had made sure to tell Austria to meet them at the airport well before the scheduled check-in time, but the other nation still showed up half an hour late. By that time, Italy had managed to; get himself lost twice (2), buy one (1) huge ice cream, get a brain freeze from said ice cream, catch the attention of the entire airport as he cried loudly into Germany's shoulder and finally perked up at the promise of being allowed to feed the blond man the rest of the ice cream by hand. Once again causing the bigger part of the people around them to stare.

Germany wanted to go home. The thought of spending ten hours crammed into the small space of an air plane together with Italy _and Austria _made him wish that he could remember some very important meeting about the balance of his national budget over the past fifty years he had to attend this weekend.

Or that someone could bomb him.

Or _something_.

But no one came to Germany's rescue, and when they'd finally collected Austria – who complained rather loudly about how the hotel Germany had chosen for him wasn't up to standards ("And then the staff told me that they did not, in fact, _have _a grand, not even in the lounge. The offered me the hired band's keyboard instead. A _keyboard! _Really, Germany, were you trying to kill me?") – they could proceed through check-in (the woman behind the counter gave Germany a long, sympathetic look which he wasn't sure if he appreciated or not) and finally, after another half-hour, to their seats. On Austria's insistence, he'd gotten them first-class tickets, so at least he wouldn't have to hear any whining about there not being enough leg-space, or champagne.

Small – and expensive – favours.

* * *

It took about half an hour before "oooh look at that, we have our own tv!", "do you think they'll serve pasta for dinner?", "look, Germany, that cloud looks just like brother France! It even has his rose~" and "I can order anything I want? Really? Do you have strawberries?" turned into "Ve~ Are we there yet?".

Germany wished he'd booked another flight for himself.

At least Austria had found a radio channel with 'acceptable' music amongst the many options the plane offered, and was sitting with his eyes closed, a cup of coffee on the table before him.

Italy hung over Germany's knee to look out the window. Germany had made sure the Italian got the window seat at the beginning of their trip, but ten minutes after take-off, the smaller nation had gotten tired of the clouds and insisted they switch so he could talk to the personnel (consisting only of attractive women; Germany figured that was what Italy had discovered as well) instead. Therefore, every time he now wanted to have a look out the small circular hole, to see if they could spot Canada yet, he now had to stretch across the tall blond. Germany grit his teeth and concentrated on his news paper.

_Ten hours. Just ten hours. You can do this, Deutschland._

"Germany, do you want a strawberry?" Italy asked, and held one to Germany's lips before he'd even had a chance to answer. He looked at the other nation, and caught a glance of two of the stewardesses, who weren't only pointing towards the two of them, small blushes on their faces as they giggled and whispered between themselves, but they were _also _ignoring their duties towards the other passengers.

Unacceptable. And they were supposed to represent _his _people's level of service.

When the two women finally disappeared behind the curtain again, it was only to turn up again, carrying a tray directly over to Germany and Italy, though neither of them had called for service. The woman smiled sweetly as she bent over them.

"Would the gentlemen like some additional cream and melted chocolate with the strawberries?" she asked.

Italy's smile could have rivalled the sun shining through the small window. "Really? That is sooo kind of you, signorina~! Germany, look, we got extra cream, isn't that nice! Germany has such good service on his planes~"

Germany wondered if this would be a good opportunity to see if his experience as a paratrooper were still up to standards.

* * *

Note the second: I am well aware that Prussia's birthday had been said to be on the 18:th of January (the day he was officially declared a Kingdom by his current ruler), however, in his own blog (spazzy (dot) starry-sky (dot) com (slash) oresamanosite (slash) t (dot) html) he states that he cannot remember the date.


	3. Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck 2 of 3

Part three: Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck part 2

Word count: around 2400

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Un-beta'd.

* * *

Prussia picked up Germany, Italy and Austria at the airport in the afternoon of the 9th of March. The ex-nation were standing by the International Arrivals exit, feet places broadly apart and grinning like a maniac. He was quite ready for it then Italy abandoned his bag to run over to the albino and throw his arms around him. He hugged Italy back with equal enthusiasm, to then proceed to giving Germany a bear-hug as well, as always attempting (and failing) to lift his younger brother off the floor. Austria was forced to accept a hug as well, something he tried to do in an as dignified manner as possible. Prussia ruined his composition by copping a well-aimed feel of the pale man's ass before he let go. Then he proceeded to taunt the musician for his three bags heavy luggage.

"What the hell did you bring; an entire orchestra?" he asked, laughing. Austria snorted.

"Of course not. I can manage quite perfectly with only my violin and harp for such a short period of time."

Prussia stared. "The fuck you need your harp for? Not the big one, right?"

"How am I supposed to celebrate your so-called 'birthday' without the proper equipment?" he asked, as if bringing a two metre tall instrument across half the world was a completely natural thing to do.

Prussia made a point out of complaining loudly half the way from the airport about how 'not even moving half across the world can save ya from the damn aristocrat's plinking'. When Austria snorted and pointedly stared out the car's window, he grinned. He wouldn't say it even if threatened with another thirty years of occupation by Russia, but he'd missed them. All of them. Even Austria's stuck up attitude and (pretty awesome, though he'd never say it out loud) music.

(Even Hungary, who would be arriving the next day, but he would never, _ever _say that out loud either. Barely even admit it to himself. Unless she said it first.)

Canada, on the other hand, was thrilled to get a chance to hear Austria play, and he didn't hesitate at all to say it out loud. When they all sat down at the table that evening (Italy was nodding off and falling asleep on Germany's shoulder all the way from the airport to Canada's house, so they decided to simply have a quick cup of tea before retiring to bed), Austria explained that it would have been absolutely impossible for him to hand over his present for Prussia without the harp, and they all understood that he had of course composed a piece of music especially for the occasion.

"Isn't that nice?" Canada asked, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm behind his spectacles, after he'd showed their guests to their separate rooms. Prussia had tried to get Canada to place him and Italy together in the bigger guestroom, but Canada refused to listen to him, countering with the simple – but solid – argument that that arrangement probably wouldn't sit well with Austria. Not to mention how jealous Germany would be ("Never mind West; he gets to have him all to himself now that I'm not living there any more! When will _I _get to spend quality time with Ita-honey, huh?"; "But wouldn't you rather spend time with your brother, in that case…?"; "Nah, West'll always be the same, boring West, no matter how long time that passes.").

So, in the end, naturally Canada had won the argument (how did he _do_ that?), and Austria got the big guest room; Germany and Italy got separate ones right next to each other ("Damn waste of space; they'll just end up sleeping in the same bed anyway."), Hungary would be sleeping in Canada's own room while Canada pulled out a mattress for himself, and Prussia got the couch in the study.

Of course this meant that on the morning of Prussia's birthday, he turned up at the breakfast table with a sulky face, all ready to start complaining about a sore back and whatever other thing he could think of… only to find the breakfast table almost crushed under an amazing amount of home-made breads, sliced sausage, pancakes, and even one of Austria's famous sponge cakes. His bad mood instantly fell from his mind and he shone up like a child in a candy-shop – a simile not really that far from the truth, most would insist.

"Happy birthday to _me_," he said happily as he sat down at the table.

It wasn't until they'd all been properly fed and satisfied that Austria voiced the question that all three Europeans had on their minds (or well, at least him and Germany did; no one was really sure what was on Italy's mind, if anything at all):

"Why exactly are we celebrating at Canada's place?"

Prussia shrugged. "Seemed appropriate, y'know?" he said. "Since it's our anniversary, or at least kind of."

Austria raised an eyebrow, while Germany just stared at his brother. Italy hummed happily and reached for another pancake.

Canada elbowed Prussia lightly, a slight blush tinting his cheeks; putting it the way Prussia had, one could much too easily misinterpret, he thought. Without further explanation, Prussia's family would end up thinking that his and Prussia's relationship had an entirely different nature than it really did. And he got his suspicions confirmed when Germany rose from the table, slowly.

"May I talk to you separately, bruder?" he asked, with a menacing tone. Prussia, who had his mouth full of scrambled eggs, shrugged and got up as well. The two Germans headed for the living room.

"I can't believe you," Germany started the moment they were out of immediate hearing range. "I know that you haven't been yourself lately, but I didn't think that you would make a lapse in judgment this big."

Prussia cocked a lazy eyebrow. "What the hell are you on about."

"I never thought you'd fall so low that you'd even suck out an unsuspecting nation like Canada." Germany's blue eyes were narrowed as he looked down on his older brother. "It's not acceptable, bruder. It's disgraceful and it's _ugly_."

Prussia sputtered. "What the _fuck _do you know?!" he said, voice raised to the point where he was practically yelling. They would probably be able to hear him in the kitchen, making the whole business of leaving the room entirely unnecessary. He didn't care, as his stomach twisted into an angry knot. For one year now, he'd forbidden himself to feel anything but grateful of his situation; he was happy to still be there at all, even if it meant having to leave his home and family behind; it couldn't be helped. He hadn't allowed himself to spite Germany for the fact that _he _hadn't been the first to come to Prussia with a solution, that he had been too occupied with everything else that had been going on since the wall fell to even notice his brother's distress. He hadn't allowed himself that, and he honestly hadn't thought that he _did _hold a grudge against Germany, or anyone else, because of it.

But now, as his brother stood before him, not only questioning the decision that had led to his survival, but also accusing him for _using Canada for his own amusement_, a wrath which he hadn't know that he'd been carrying rose to the surface. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at Germany. "You don't know shit about what's going on here, in fact, you haven't even bothered _looking _at me directly for over ten years and now you suddenly think you've got the right to lecture me?! Fuck you, West, fuck all of you; I was fucking _dying _and where the hell were you, huh?! Matthew was the only damn person in the world who tried to help me, so don't you dare call me low for accepting his offer! Like I – _me_, the Great Preussen – were going to roll over and die like an old dog? _Hell no_."

Germany stared at him.

"What? Disappearing?"

"See, you didn't even notice! Yeah, I was fucking disappearing! Going out like a light, beginning to kick the bucket, and you were all too caught up in your economical alliances to notice."

Prussia hadn't even been aware himself that he felt such mirth over the fact that none of his neighboring nations – his _family _– had offered him a hand during his most desperate moments. He hadn't thought that he cared, and he _hadn't _cared, but hearing Germany indict him of using a humble and kind nation like Canada out of nothing else but childish selfishness gave his mouth a bad taste worse than he'd been since his time with Russia. And he'd just been enjoying the best frikkin' breakfast ever, too.

The expression on Germany's face had over the period of a few seconds gone from shocked, to thoughtful, to horrified, until he was now wearing a look of wretched realization.

"Bruder… why didn't you say something?" he mumbled.

Prussia snorted. "Like I was gonna come crawling and beg for help like some loser," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, his anger fading at once when he saw his younger brother look so regretful. "That just ain't awesome."

Germany shook his head, trying to understand how any of this fit together. "But how can you living with Canada help you in any way…?"

The albino cocked his head with a dry smile. "Y'see, it's all the old man's doing," he said, making sure that Germany once again heard the implications that _he hadn't helped_. "We came here, a long time ago – to be honest I'd kinda forgotten 'bout it myself – and we claimed a bit of Canada for me. Not that it's any less his land than anything else here, but since it was named after me we thought it might work. And it's been awesome, almost all of my hands have come back. Though they don't have any real beer around."

"You claimed…?"

"Excuse me?" came Canada's voice from the living room door. Prussia at least heard it and turned towards the shorter blond. He was hugging Kumajirou to his chest; something he normally never did at home. Prussia made a face; he hadn't meant to make Canada feel uncomfortable and uncertain within the four walls of his own house, and he instantly regretted his outburst.

"Yeah?"

"Um. Well. I've been talking to Mister Austria, and we agreed we should probably go have a look at New Prussia, and let Mister Germany see for himself what you've been working on over the past year."

He looked uncertainly at the Germanic nation and ex-nation, wondering if it had really been a good idea to interrupt the two brothers, but Austria had, after having interrogated Canada thoroughly and in a much more effective way than Germany did with Prussia (who could ever have guessed that the aristocrat had such knowledge of grilling techniques), announced that the two fools wouldn't get anywhere further with their emotional eruption unless they got drunk and fought it off – which he strongly advised against. So, since Canada rather liked his house in one piece, he'd quickly come up with another idea.

They left one hour after breakfast had been finished (or, after Germany had finally managed to pull Italy from the table; Prussia didn't seem as inclined to indulge in his birthday breakfast after his talk with his brother, and Canada watched his protégé worriedly), all five nations crammed into the slightly too small space of Canada's car. The drive to New Prussia wasn't a long one, normally, although today it was made longer by Italy's inability to sit still for an extended amount of time. Every time they drove by an ice cream parlor or pizzeria, he jumped up, waving and demanding they'd stop and have a look and taste. Prussia laughed and reached back to ruffle Italy's hair each time, while Germany just scowled and Austria snorted.

Canada wasn't sure that the others noticed, but Prussia was acting brasher and louder than the north-American nation had gotten used to over the year. He figured this was either because he was so happy being surrounded by his family again, or because he was nervous about showing them his new home – and getting hopefully getting it approved.

Once they passed the border to the area called New Prussia, they all knew. Not only because Prussia suddenly turned silent and looked expectantly at the (seemingly unchanged) landscape around them, but also because they could feel it. The ex-nation's presence had always been rather overwhelming, and anyone who had known him for an extended amount of time would be able to recognize any land that Prussia called his own, simply because the land _said so_.

Once they pulled up at Baden's local grocery store's tiny parking lot, Prussia was practically beaming as he got out and started pointing out different locations and people. Germany silently followed him down the main street, while Austria took a moment to look out over the building, and then the hills and forests behind them.

"Well. It certainly looks like he's made himself at home," he remarked. Canada didn't feel like attempting to interpret exactly what he meant.

"It's so nice!" Italy chirped from his left side. "It looks very different from Germany's place, but it still feels just like Prussia. I love it!"

…he knew coming out here had been a good idea. Canada let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, as the two brothers started walking back towards them. The wrinkle between Germany's eyebrows was still there, but it wasn't nearly as deep as it'd been before. Italy ran up to the two, flailing and praising everything around them with words that seemed obviously exaggerated to Canada. But Prussia beamed at the small European nation and gave him a one armed hug which seemed to hold no doubt of the Italian's sincerity.

"Thanks, Itacakes," Prussia laughed. "I'm glad ya like it, because I've been working hard on making this place as amazing as is fit for the amazing me! It's still got a long way to go, I guess, but New Prussia's potential is _huge, _just let me tell ya that!"

The pride in his face was obvious, and by the car, Austria sighed.

"Well, I guess that if he necessarily had to pick someone to mess with, it might as well be you, Canada. If something should occur, at least your brother has access to nuclear technology."

Canada wasn't sure how that was supposed to be reassuring.


	4. Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck 3 of 3

Part four: Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck part 3

Word count: around 2700

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. This is the final part of the story about New Prussia's first birthday. (Except there's also an omake, which will be uploaded in a couple of days, at most.) Un-beta'd.

* * *

Hungary didn't show up until late in the evening on New Prussia's first birthday, and when she did, it was like a force of nature had arrived to Canada's house. The moment she set foot inside his threshold (she'd insisted on taking a cab from the airport instead of Canada going to pick her up; "There's no need for you to baby me, dear, poor boy, I am perfectly capable of travelling on my own, just you enjoy your dinner in… peace."), she'd aimed for Prussia's middle. The albino was soon found rolling back and forth on the floor, wheezing and coughing and clutching his stomach in pain.

Hungary turned to Germany.

"So it's true then?" she asked. "There's no doubt about it?"

Germany looked uncomfortable, and he discretely shifted to make a direct punch to the gut a lot harder to land.

"_Ja,_ Hungary. He's here to stay."

"Thank the lord," Hungary exclaimed, to all of their surprise. Canada was beginning to feel nauseated from the emotional rollercoaster this woman was already proving to be. "He'd been looking _awful _over the last ten years, I haven't even been able to beat him up properly for all the obscenities he's come up with. Perhaps now he'll manage to shape up a bit again."

Austria nodded to show that he was of the same opinion. Italy was seated on the floor beside Prussia, patting his shoulder supportively – how that was meant to help him, Canada didn't know – and Germany looked away, cheeks coloured a light pink. Canada realized that he was, in fact, deeply ashamed to not having noticed his brother's state of distress, and he instantly forgave the taller blond.

From his place on the floor, Prussia groaned.

"What the fuck, woman, watch where you're aiming, would'ya? One decimetre lower and you'd have punched in my ba—aaaoooowwch!"

Hungary didn't bother to watch where she put her feet either, as she stepped over Prussia's fallen form, and her heel bore deep into his shin. She didn't even spare him a look.

"Now, where is the kitchen? I thought that we were supposed to be preparing a celebration of some sort."

Prussia sobbed.

center---/center

When everyone had gotten their stomachs filled to the point where they felt like they'd burst, Austria excused himself to go set up his harp in order to hold his little concert. "Because no matter what kind of 'birthday' this may be—" "Hey! It's _my _birthday, and it's an awesome one!" "—it still cannot be a real celebration without a concert," he claimed. Germany, and Prussia went upstairs to check the guestrooms – Canada suspected that they only said so to get a chance to finish the bottles of beer that Germany had brought from his place in peace, and talk things out a bit more between themselves now that Italy wasn't poking at Germany's attention every fifteenth second (he had fallen asleep on the couch promptly after dinner).

This meant the only ones left to do the dishes and clean the kitchen were Canada and Hungary. The blond tried his very best not to show how nervous he felt around the other nation, although he couldn't stop his hands from trembling slightly when he accepted the wet glasses and cutlery from her hands. They worked in silence for almost five minutes, Hungary focusing hard on her task (or maybe she simply wasn't noticing Canada standing beside her; that was also very possible) while worrying at her lower lip and narrowing her eyes at the cutlery.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Um… About Prussia moving here…" Canada began.

"Yes," Hungary said over the clinking of porcelain, "Roderich told me it's most likely to be permanent. I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry you had to take on this responsibility, America."

"It's Canada."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, Canada."

Canada's smile was a strained one. He'd always been a bit intimidated by the other nation – really, who _wasn't_ – and hearing her apologize to him like that made him uncomfortable at best. (Terrified at worst.)

"Um. Miss Hungary, there's really no need to—"

"But there _is!" _Hungary interrupted, and put the half-clean plate back down in the sink. "I should have been here, I should have been here to drag him back to Europe and beat some sense into him, we're more than strong enough to help him if he'd just _come to us, _really, Gilbert what are you thinking, using a child's innocence like this, you're worse than I thought…"

Canada sighed. Yet another part of Prussia's "family" who wouldn't believe that anyone would offer the ex-nation lodging by their own free will. Granted, he hadn't known Prussia for that long, and he hadn't seen his worst sides, but that was because he hadn't been _around_ for that long. They'd never really encountered each other during the Second World War, at least not in person. That didn't mean he didn't know what he was offering (or giving up, as most seemed to see it), and it definitely didn't mean that he was ignorant of Prussia's flaws, or the difficulties that would come with sharing his place with the former kingdom.

"Miss Hungary… it's alright, really. I know what I am doing."

"Of course you would think that, dear boy, oh dear _boy_."

She sounded just like one of the elderly, wiser-than-thou ladies he sometimes went to visit on his spare-time, to remember and re-live his slightly less recent history. Not that he would ever tell that. He'd seen a demonstration of Hungary's famous right hook as late as that afternoon, after all.

"I'm sorry if I'm giving off that much of an untrustworthy impression…"

"Of course it's not that, Canada dear. I don't doubt the strength of your personality or nationhood." (Now, that had to be a lie, Canada figured; he didn't think Hungary had ever been able to see him without at least five pointers from other nations; hadn't she had troubles remembering it was him she talked to already in this conversation?) "It is only that I know Prussia better than anyone, even Germany I'd think, and this is just like him. To convince a young nation such as yourself to… it's unusual for him to attempt being stealthy about it; I admit that, but…"

"Mister Prussia hasn't made any attempts at all at my vital regions, so far, miss Hungary," Canada said.

She looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Oh. How odd. None at all?"

"Well, he does come over to ask for breakfast pretty frequently, despite having his own place to stay at, but nothing more than that. I doubt him devouring pancakes like a starved man will have any effect on my national structure, unless I go bankrupt from buying up too much of our stock of export syrup."

The smile he couldn't stop from slipping onto his face probably gave something away, because Hungary stayed silent for a long time after this, apparently finally having taken what Canada had been trying to tell her for half an hour into real consideration.

"America, dear…?"

"Canada."

"Right, of course. Canada."

"Yes, miss Hungary?"

"What _has _he been doing this past year? I simply can't believe that he'd been sitting around in a cottage somewhere and _behave_ for the first time in his life."

"Well… he's not quite finished with the renovation of the house, so that's still taking up a lot of time… He's been painting a lot of my mountains as well, he says they're very different from Germany's although I don't know—"

At this, Hungary turned around to face him entirely.

"Canada," she said seriously. The blond swallowed and only barely managed to not move his hands to cover… certain sensitive areas. What had he said now?

"Um, yes?"

"What did you say Gilbert's been doing?"

"Ah, painting?"

"He's been painting landscapes? _Your _landscapes?"

"…yes? I've only been allowed to see one or of the finished ones, but…"

"Canada, I'm so happy for you."

Whatever he had said or done, it had changed something in Hungary's tone very drastically, and she now sounded like she had just established a treaty that would ensure her economy for the next hundred years. Or something similarly amazing. She dropped the sponge into the dish water and reached for him. Canada didn't dare to breath, but all she did was to hug him hard against her bust.

Not that that wasn't just as terrifying and confusing as if she'd hit him.

"Eh?"

When she pulled back, just as abruptly as she'd grabbed him, she kept her hands on his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes as her tone dropped lower. It was as if she was talking to an accomplice, making secret plans to rob a bank, and her serious face didn't do anything at all to help that impression. Canada hoped he hadn't managed to insinuate anything of the sort; damn these culture shocks he still got when he interacted with other nations from time to time. Him being more multicultural than most didn't seem to help him much with the issue.

"I'm sure you'll make a lovely pair, Canada, I'm so happy for the two of you! Welcome to the family!"

He wasn't sure about what exactly had caused Hungary to come to the conclusion, but before he'd managed to stutter out a denial, the other nation had ushered him out of the kitchen with a bright smile, assuring him that she could handle the rest by herself and that he should "go spend some time with dear Gilbert". Canada was more confused than he'd been in his entire life. Why had she come to the conclusion that he and Prussia had this kind of relation, all of a sudden?

As he exited the kitchen, Prussia met him in the hallway to the living room.

"Where's Hungary?" he asked, looking behind Canada.

"She's just finishing up the dishes," he answered, looking up at the ex-nation. For the better part of a minute, he couldn't tear his eyes off Prussia's; his cheekbones, hair, neck. Hungary's misunderstanding hung in the air around them, forcing his thoughts onto a track which he had never expected them to go. Canada hesitated before he dared look into his protégé's eyes, and turned his own gaze away as he noticed that Prussia had taken on a questioning expression. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he forced his own mind back on a route that didn't address anything that had to do with Prussia being a remarkably handsome man. (For some reason, the comments his mind made about the pleasantries in Prussia's features were all spoken by a voice which sounded a lot like Hungary's. Somehow, this made Canada feel like the thoughts were even more inappropriate.)

"Well, if y'could tell her to hurry it up a bit; I want my presents already!"

Canada was on the verge of telling him to go tell her himself; he'd had quite enough alone time with Hungary for this year, he thought, but then he sighed and agreed easily.

Once they were all assembled in the living room, the 'a child in a candy-shop' look was back on Prussia's face, and his turned his expectant eyes to Germany. They spent about ten minutes watching Prussia tearing at wrapping paper and opening boxes, proclaiming loudly that having a birthday was the best friggin' thing ever. When it was finally time for Austria to hand over his own gift, the group all turned towards the rather impressive harp that took up a big portion of the room.

"It really is too bad that your house is so small, Am—Canada," he had said earlier in the day when Canada helped him to move the couch and TV in order to fit the instrument. "The sound will not carry as well here as it would if we were celebrating at Germany's house. But I figure it cannot be helped."

As usual when the aristocrat was involved, Canada couldn't figure out if he should feel offended or not. He opted for not, since it would be even ruder of him to let something like Austria's bad choice of expression get to him to the point where he did something to down the mood on the first anniversary of New Prussia.

Either way, as they sat down to listen to Austria's latest composition, Canada found himself being pulled against Prussia's side, the ex-nation grinning down at him.

"I apologize for the hurried state you shall find that this piece has been finished in," Austria begun his introduction. "As I had to make some last-minute changes to fit the… _special circumstances _behind the celebration…" he looked at Canada and Prussia down the ridge of his nose, and the blond realized that the reason Austria had looked to sullen and tired this day was because he'd sat awake the whole night, editing the composition to add in Canada's participation in Prussia's new life. At once, he decided to not be offended by anything that the nobleman might say to him, ever again. Really, this was probably one of the most touching things someone had ever done for him. It sure beat all the times his own family had 'remembered' his own birthday – more often than not a month or two too late.

The piece was astonishingly beautiful, Canada decided. England had long since taught him to appreciate classical music, and Austria was truly a meister worthy of representing his people. Even as Prussia didn't bother to hide his yawn behind his hand, Canada's gaze stayed fixated on the long, slender fingers dancing over the harp's strings. When the music silenced (almost an hour later), Canada applauded enthusiastically. Austria looked pleased, and gave an extra court bow in Canada's direction (at least he guessed it wasn't in the direction of the albino beside him, who had been nodding off for almost twenty minutes already).

As Italy also seemed about ready to fall over from exhaustion, they decided to all retreat to their rooms. Canada took it on himself to show Hungary to hers, and as they walked up the stairs, she leaned closer to him, voice lowered.

"Look, I'll… I'll give you my email address, yes? My secret one, that Roderich doesn't know about. And then you can send me pictures?"

Canada blinked and stared at her as if she'd turned into one of America's alien friends. "What?"

"Just one or two is fine; they don't even have to be nude ones. Or at least not fully nude." Her tone sank into a whisper, seemingly talking to herself; "I've always wondered how much of those 'five metres' that is an exaggeration…"

Before Canada had a chance to wonder about how much he _should _wonder about this comment, she turned back to him with a smile. "Make sure not to tell Gilbert what they are for! Okay? And don't' worry; I won't say a _thing_ to _anyone._ Ah, beautiful is the love which cannot be stopped with the rules and regulations of man or nation~"

Canada knew he'd be spending a lot of time trying to de-code this woman. If he hadn't been as tired as he was right then, he would have asked her exactly what she meant by 'can't be stopped by rules and regulations'. What 'rules and regulations'? But the question easily fell from his mind when Hungary grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him another one of her slightly-too-familiar-to-be-comfortable hugs, and then he found himself with a door shut in his face.

Actually, he thought, he should probably have taken more time thinking about a way to explain to Hungary that he and Prussia _didn't _have that kind of relationship, than wondering why she found the idea so appealing. And _why_, he added in his mind, did Hungary want him to take pictures of the assumed relationship?

Really, these culture shocks were going to get the better of him one of these days.


	5. Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck omake

Part five: Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck omake

Word count: around 1000

Genre: general, fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Set directly after the end of Zum Geburstag Viel Gluck part 3. Unbeta'd, as usual.

* * *

"Hey, psst, you!"

Canada was just about to remind the owner of the loud whisper that his name was _Canada, it's Ca-na-da; not 'you'_, when he caught sight of Prussia in the doorway to the office. The albino's expression looked slightly haunted as he scanned the corridor to both the left and right, while urging Canada to come closer.

Canada forgot his intention of reminding the other of exactly whose house he'd been _living in for the past year_, and hurriedly made his way over.

"What is it?" he wondered. "Is there something wrong?"

"Shh, keep it down, willya?" Prussia said. Canada shut his mouth, confused. "Come here, kid, I've got something I wanna show you." Canada nodded silently and entered the room.

As he stepped into the office, he caught sight of the state of it and sighed. After only two days, it was loitered with clothes and candy papers. He should have suspected as much, but he sure didn't look forward to cleaning up the place after Prussia's family had left. Ah, well. It couldn't be helped, he thought; he was the one who had suggested they'd invite the Europeans over in the first place, and he was also the one who had insisted on the current sleeping arrangements.

Prussia gave him a small push to get him to take another step forward, and then shut the door behind the two of them. Canada turned around to raise an eyebrow at his protégé, but Prussia just motioned for him to walk further into the room. Canada did so, trying to not step on any of the ex-nations strewn about clothes in the process.

"There, hey, stop there," Prussia suddenly said. Canada stopped.

"Prussia, what…?"

"Uh. Well." The albino scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I, actually. I have something for ya."

"For me…?"

Prussia opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He glanced quickly at his host nation, then he quickly led his gaze towards the opposite wall. "Aaah verdammt!" he exclaimed. "I'm not good with these sorta things, okay? Just fucking take it, 'cause it's not every day the great me offers something like a thank you gift, just so you know!"

Canada blinked. "Thank you gift?"

Prussia cocked his head. "By the desk," he said, still not looking at the blond nation. Actually Canada had been inquiring as to how exactly he had made himself deserving of such a thing, and not about the actual gift, but judging from how Prussia averted his eyes, he wasn't entirely comfortable with going into detail about things. Not right now, at least.

Canada turned around again, scanning the room once more. This time, he caught sight of a big, flat, square-shape object leaning against the desk by the window. It was covered by a big sheet, or at least he guessed it had once been blue. Now it was stained with so many different colours that it was almost impossible to tell.

Canada looked at it, almost suspiciously. "It's for me?"

"Just take it already, damn it."

It was a painting. A big one, almost one metre tall when standing on the floor. The colours that met his eyes upon unwrapping the work of art – deep pink, purple, brown and blue – blended together pretty skilfully to present him a picture of the mountains and sky around Lake Ontario, sunset reflected in the water, colouring it a hue of pink which he only remembered having seen a couple dozen of times during his nationally speaking rather short years.

Even if the artist's personal style wasn't very refined, the painting was breathtaking. All the more so because… because it had been painted for him.

"Woah…" he breathed.

"You like it?" Prussia asked.

"Yes. Oh god, yes, I like it, of course I like it!" Canada said, unable to turn away from the painting even the shortest of seconds.

"Hah, yeah, of course you like it! Why wouldn't you like it! Right? I knew all along that no one could feel any differently about a gift from me, handmade by me, the amazing Preussen! Right? It's frikken' awesome, so of course you'd be happy! Don't worry, if you feel the urge to fall onto your knees and worship me, that's totally natural!"

Canada just smiled. "But why; it's not _my _birthday, you know?"

"Well, sugar… It's _our_ anniversary. Or well. Kind of. You know." His eyes went back to studying that spot on the opposite wall which he'd found earlier. If Canada squinted, he thought himself able to see a hint of pink on the ex-nation's ears. Of course that might have been a trick of the light, though. "And I thought what the hell, you've been feeding me breakfast for over a year now; I should at least offer _somethin'_ in return. Except for the blessing of my amazing presence, I mean."

Canada just smiled.

"Okay," he said.

"And..." Prussia added, glancing at the wall which separated the study from Canada's bedroom. "Don't let Hungary see it, okay?"

"...why?"

"She'll misunderstand. You know. Girls. They get the weirdest ideas."

One day earlier, Canada would have assured Prussia that he_ didn't _know, but now he simply remembered his conversations with Hungary - first in the kitchen and then the even more recent one in the stairs - and he nodded. Until the day he'd managed to figure out what exactly it was that made Hungary draw the conclusions she did, he wouldn't risk giving her directions towards a road he himself hadn't even known was there before.

"I won't say a thing."

"Awesome. And Canada?"

"Yes?"

"Uh... yeah. Thanks. And stuff."

Nodding again, Canada asked if he could let the painting stay in the study for a while longer, so that he could make out the best place to hang it once the guests had left the following day, and upon getting Prussia's permission to do so, he excused himself and wished his protégé a good night before exiting the room.

It wasn't until he closed the door to his own accommodations in the storage that he realized that Prussia hadn't had any troubles remembering his name at all.

* * *

End note: The painting Prussia made looks something like this = i996(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/af86/exorcistor/kluane-lake_258(dot)jpg. Yes, I know that that isn't Lako Ontaro, but Lake Kluane. I don't much care, because that's what it looks like.


	6. Not Such a Big Deal

Part six: Not Such a Big Deal

Word count: around 1700

Genre: hunour, general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. This chapter was beta'd by the moonlighten at LiveJournal (who's own Prussia/Canada story you should definitely check out, because WOAH). Thank you!

* * *

"And you are absolutely certain about this?"

Canada sighed. It had to be the millionth time that France asked him this already. How many "yes, absolutely" would he have to squeak out before they believed him? Really. Both him and England were acting like they were marrying off their child or something. He knew he might appear like it, but Canada was, in fact, not weak-willed or unable to make his own decisions. Okay, so he was a bit of a push-over around his brother, and maybe the other nations in G8, and Kumajirou, and Russia (but _everyone_ was a pushover for Russia!), but he knew one thing for sure, and that was that he wouldn't give away a part of his land unless he was completely sure it was what he wanted, or someone pried it from his dead, cold hands.

Besides, Prussia and he had never even talked before that day. He was pretty sure the ex-nation hadn't even been aware that Canada existed before he'd gathered all his courage and addressed him regarding the land of New Prussia. So, there was no way the albino would have been able to pressure or manipulates him into giving up the Township to him.

No one seemed to listen to him when he explained this, though. Canada sighed.

"Yes, absolutely," he said, again.

France made a face. Canada knew that he just took his former protégé's stubbornness for foolishness, his kindness for naivety. While France was better than most of the other nations, he was still not unaffected by the fact that Canada was so heavily influenced by and outwardly alike his brother. And his brother was – to put it kindly – both stubborn and naïve. And stupid. And hasty. And loud. And a pain-in-the-ass.

But that was beside the point.

The _point_. The point was that neither France not England had anything to do with who Canada offered a part of himself.

"Look," he begun, switching to English to address both of them (because he knew that no matter how much France denied it, he understood England's language perfectly well, while England did not know more than two words of French, if even that), "I realize that you don't think this is a good idea—"

"Not a good idea?" England intervened, voice shrill. "It's the stupidest bloody idea of the century! How can you _not_ see that it is a disaster waiting to happen?!"

"There, there, Angleterre," France said, patting the other nation's leg. For once, England didn't react negatively at the contact, too outraged by Canada's and Prussia's new relation to care much about France's hands. "Let's just 'ere 'im out, shall we?" The tone was soft, but the look he gave Canada said clearly that he had better make it worthwhile, or else he wouldn't hold his life-long rival back any more.

England scoffed, and sat back in his armchair once more, arms crossed.

It took a lot of explaining of the circumstances leading up to his decision (this part he feared wasn't entirely coherent, as he wasn't sure about what it had been that led him to offer Prussia the land named after him in the first place, just that he couldn't stand to see someone as proud as the former kingdom be reduced to something less than even himself), as well as reassuring that nothing about his own being had changed when he made it, or after. None of his laws had been re-written, although he could admit that he had developed a more refined taste in beers lately, and he'd become a little better at pushing his opinion. If it was the influence that becoming one with Prussia had had on him, or just the fact that it was a skill needed to have even a short conversation with the red-eyed ex-nation, he didn't know. He didn't mind, though. Instead, he'd become able to get his point across during conferences more often, and were even able to stand his ground against America from time to time.

"And Prussia's been changing as well. Really. You should visit him sometime, his house is really nice and his paintings are so pretty…"

Here, both England's and France's eyes widened, and they exchanged Looks.

"Prusse… painting?" France repeated.

"Hm? Yes, painting. Particularly landscapes, I believe that we was inspired by some German artist – I don't remember his name – and he's becoming really good at it. The piece he gave me for our anniversary was _amazing_, over a meter high, of the Lake Ontario, it's too bad I can't show you right now…"

England made a strangled sound. France suddenly sat a bit straighter in his chair.

"Oh, Mattheu!" he exclaimed, leaning forward to grasp at Canada's hands. "I see, I understand, oh, this is indeed a joyous joining, after all!"

Canada blinked. "Eh?"

"Of course, trés formidable; then there is nothing more I can say, you cannot stand in the way of such pure feelings, indeed, I congratulate you both!"

England looked like he'd just swallowed a nuclear bomb.

"Hey, just a minute now—"

"I am sorry, my dear Angelterre, there's just no way stopping l'amour," France said, shaking his head with a knowing look on his face. "I shall admit myself defeated and lay this quest to rest. But you will invite me to the wedding, Mattheu, oui?" he said before he bent closer to the stunned north-American nation, and added in whispering French; "You and I will have to have a talk about this, Mattheu. There are certain rules to be considered, you understand? Just don't tell England I told you –"

Over France's shoulder, Canada could see England's eyebrow twitch; he himself was well aware that England wasn't at all oblivious to France's language, but France didn't seem to know this at all. Canada suspected that the reason was that England refused to admit to knowing even the simplest greeting in French, so that France would always have to use his own language instead.

"—he thinks I either don't know them, or don't care, and I would like things to stay this way." France finished before he straightened; a smile of the sort that made most people aware of exactly _how _loose the blond nation could be firmly on his face. To anyone who hadn't heard exactly what he'd said – most likely to annoy England a little extra, since France didn't know that England in fact _did _know what he'd said – it most likely looked like he had given Canada some kind of advice of a _much _less serious, and much more perverted manner.

"And today we shall go out to celebrate your finding of love," France finished with a delightful laugh, and left the room in a sudden rain of rose petals (did he keep those things in his pockets _all the time_, Canada wondered weakly).

England started to get out of his chair, legs shaking slightly. Canada raised his hand half-way to stop him.

"Don't. Just don't, Canada. Don't explain yourself to me, do what you wish," England mumbled weakly. "I'm just a pathetic old bugger who has never known love, who am I to judge you. Just," England hesitated, and threw a backward glance towards the doorway through which France had disappeared. "I don't care if the frog knows or doesn't know; he's not likely to care about any rules that limits his chances of… _conquest_, either way. I just want _you _to be aware, Matthew, that…" He looked Canada straight in the eyes; this sudden display of resolve lasted for about two seconds, then his voice sunk to a mumble and his gaze dropped to somewhere around Canada's chest. "I… uh, don't think that it would be a good idea to… get… _too _attached."

"England?"

"That is." England was definitely not looking anywhere near Canada's face anymore. "Don'tshagPrussia," he finished hastily, and with those words, he exited the room, leaving a very confused Canada to try to make sense of what had just happened.

Had it gone well? He had managed to make his "family" accept him taking Prussia in, but… at what price? Not one that he – or Prussia, he was sure – was willing to pay. He'd have to think of a way to explain to them that him and Prussia didn't have that kind of relationship and get them to see that it could still be a good thing for them to share his land. For both of them, that was.

It may only have been one year, but Canada knew one thing, and that was that he _liked_ who he was with Prussia, damn it, and he wouldn't let anyone take his newly won self-confidence away with the other man. Plus, where would Prussia go; he had nowhere else. No one else. New Prussia had become his home, and if they took that away from him, he'd be reduced to what he'd been before Canada had reached out to him. Even worse; this time around he could cease to exist entirely. Canada couldn't let that happen; couldn't imagine a world without the brazen, loud-mouthed, cheeky man in it. Losing someone with such an easy smile would be a huge loss to the world, couldn't they see that? It would be a huge loss to _him_.

Exactly why he couldn't imagine an existence without Prussia after one a year and a half, when they'd spent centuries barely aware of each other before that, he didn't know. He just knew that he couldn't.

He would even go through the Talk, or whatever one should call what France had promised they'd have later, to keep let the other nations know that he was serious about keeping Prussia at his place. He would not back down from this.

His musings were interrupted by America barging into the room, quite possibly cracking the handle of the door in his hurry to get through it. Canada jumped so high he almost fell out of his chair.

"CANADA WHAT'S UP WITH YOU AND PRUSSIA GETTING MARRIED, HUH?!"

…Canada groaned. France and his big mouth.


	7. It Happens Once Every 300 Years

Part seven: The One Time England and America Were of the Same Opinion

Word count: around 850

Genre: humour, general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. This chapter was beta'd by the moonlighten at LiveJournal (who's own Prussia/Canada story you should definitely check out, because WOAH). Thank you!

* * *

If alcohol couldn't make matters better, nothing was going to make matters better, England decided after five bottles of beer, two gin-and-tonics and the big glass of wine that France had bought the four of them and insisted they'd all make a toast with. A toast, a bloody _toast, _like this was something to fucking celebrate.

"Fuck that Kraut," England muttered to the table. "His mum probably went and shagged a retarded donkey in her youth, would explain a damn lot, f'you ask me."

"Yeah, who the hell does he think he is, anyway," a voice answered him, and he looked up, blinking to focus his eyes on… on America, who was slumped besides him, cheek resting heavily in his propped up hand, pout fixed firmly on his face. Huh. He hadn't realized that the other nation had stayed behind when Canada and France had excused themselves to go back to the hotel. A half-empty pint was set before him on the table, and England contemplated asking the younger nation if he was finishing that. The solution to this disaster hadn't been found at the bottom of any of his own glasses, but that didn't necessarily mean it wouldn't be at the bottom of America's, England figured. Before he could make the proposition, however, America reached for the beer and chugged it like he needed it to survive.

England blinked again.

"You—" he begun, but had to pause to lift his own face from the wooden surface digging into his jaw and making his speech even more inaudible than the beer alone had before he could continue. "You're quite cross 'bout this."

America gave him a look that said 'well, duh'. "Fuck yeah I am! He hasn't even _mentioned_ it to me. Not cool. Not cool at all; brothers are supposed to talk about these kinda things, you know!"

England nodded enthusiastically in agreement, too caught up in his anger about Prussia worming his way into their dysfunctional little family so rudely to have any time left to brood over the mentioning of 'the bond between brothers', as he usually did. For once, he and America were of the same opinion in a matter – any matter at all – and he wouldn't waste a moment like that on recalling his own painful experiences.

"That's what I've been saying! He should've at least asked us for advice. Before he went and did something so daft on his own."

"Totally. It's not like we could've changed his mind if he'd really wanted it, anyway. So what's the deal with shutting up for a year, huh? A _whole year_…"

"A year and a half."

America glared at the empty glass, at the bartender, at the door to the ladies room, at England's chest; at everything in general. "Fuck."

England thought that this was the part where he should have offered some kind of comfort, since it was clear America was the one of them with the biggest right to be upset. He lived next to Canada, after all, and he was the one now practically sharing his border with fucking Prussia, of all people.

Yeah, America definitely had more reasons to be angered by Prussia and Canada becoming one.

--shit, he made it sound like his former protégé was turning into Russia. Oh hell no, or heavens no, or whoever was listening; let that not be it; the world couldn't take another Russia. Not to mention he'd miss sweet, considerate Canada _so much _if he went all crazy and smiles and communist on them all. Not that he'd ever let anyone know that.

"And France that bastard, making it sound like it's a brilliant idea just because of _l'amour_ or whatever. Like Canada could ever fall for a loser like Prussia, _hah_. He's gotta have better taste than that, he's _my _brother after all. What the hell gave him that idea to begin with, is what I don't get; you'd have to have one helluva wild imagination to think of something like that…"

"The bloody paintings," England said. America raised an eyebrow.

"What paintings?"

"The wanker's been painting," he explained. "Landscapes."

"Uh, yeah? So?"

England made an annoyed face at America's slowness. "_Canada's _landscapes, you twat."

America's face was still as frustratingly question mark-like as ever. England rolled his eyes.

"I know a picture doesn't have the same value these days, but there used to be a time when painting was said to be the same as making love to the object you're putting on the canvas. S'why some artists got hanged when they'd painted the wealthy men's wives nude." He sniggered humourlessly. "Well, one of the reasons, anyway."

"…nude pictures."

"You know, when someone strips and—"

"Canada's landscapes?" America interrupted him. Oh, so he was catching on. _Finally_.

England nodded grimly.

"…I am going to _kill _him."

For some reason, seeing America this upset calmed England's own nerves considerably. He reached over and grabbed the pint from the younger nation.

"Just don't nuke your brother," he reminded him before he finished the beer in one sweep.

* * *

Note the second: According to a British online dictionary, to 'nuke' something in British English actually means to microwave it. Oh, well, I guess one should be able to tell from the context that that isn't what England means to say here XD


	8. A German and His Beer part 1

Part eight: A German and His Beer part 1

Word count: 663

Genre: general, fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Just a tiny update this time, sorry about the shortness.

* * *

"Your bird is back."

Prussia blinked and looked up from his book (reading was a pastime that he'd never thought he'd take up, much less grow fond of; he figured it was part of Canada's influence on him), to the blond standing before him, halfway out of his giant coat (he'd found it amusing ever since he saw it the first time and read the name of the brand – really, who _thought _of something like "Canada Goose" – and stopped laughing the moment he'd realized it was the only brand capable of keeping him from freezing to death during the winters up here).

"Huh?" he asked intelligently.

Canada shrugged off the rest of the jacket and raised one hand to point to somewhere around the location of Prussia's head.

"Your bird," he repeated.

Prussia looked up, but couldn't see anything.

"What frikken bird?" he demanded.

"The one that you—" Canada interrupted himself, frowning. "You mean you never realized?"

Raising an eyebrow at the nation, Prussia got up from his relaxed sprawl on the couch. "What're you talkin' about, kid?" he asked. Canada rolled his eyes, only partly managing to hide it by bending down to pull off his boots. Then he walked up to Prussia, extending a hand slowly, reaching for Prussia's face. The albino silently sucked in a breath (he always felt so _strange _when Canada touched him nowadays; he thought it might be because they were forming a bond kind of like the one he's had with Germany before, and that bond wasn't sure about how it wanted to manifest itself yet), but then Canada raised his hand towards his hairline, and made an odd… _cooing _noise, a soft expression on his face. Prussia was very confused, as a sudden, sharp _chirping _answered the nation's cooing, and then Canada slowly retracted his hand, a small yellow bundle of feathers in his hand.

"Aww, aren't you just adorable," he smiled at the bird.

The _bird._

Prussia suddenly remembered vaguely some of the comments he'd gotten on his blog, all neglecting his own awesome self in favour of the bird that seemed to have seated itself on top of his head just in time for most of his pictures. And now it'd found him again. It even looked like it was the same bird. How totally _weird._

"Huh. So that lil' fellow decided to come along again," he commented, watching Canada squeal over the tiny animal. In the doorway to the living room, the bear sat, silently watching the displayed scene with a neutral expression, before getting up and heading for the kitchen. Prussia wondered if he even cared about the affection his owner poured over his new discovery. Probably not.

"I bet this means you're fully settled, Prussia!" Canada beamed, while the bird flew up from his hand and took to circling his head once, before returning to his apparent home on top of Prussia's pale locks. He raised his hand, and carefully felt for the small feathery body. He petted it a couple of times, before attempting to raise his head to look at the animal. Of course, that didn't work; it only earned him a small giggle from Canada, before his host nation exited the room to follow the bear into the kitchen.

"It's the beer, isn't it?" he mumbled.

He'd finally, after a couple of years of efforts, gotten the townspeople in most of Baden, Mannheim, New Hamburg and Phillipsburg to take to the much-more-awesomer-than-Canada's, _German_ brands. It had taken a lot of effort, and he was still far from the first celebration of Oktoberfest here in New Prussia, but he was the Great Prussia, and therefore, he hadn't thought on giving up even once (what the hell was _wrong _with these people, so intent on sticking to the sad excuse for a drink that both America and Canada called beer?).

The bird chirped.

"I know right. Life without Krombacher Pils just ain't worth living."

The bird chirped again.

center---/center

End note: I realize this part is a bit short, so have a a href="."bonus ficlet/a featuring England and America, the night after Canada, England and France has had their "talk".


	9. A Matter of Hand

Part nine: A Matter of Hand

Word count: 450

Genre: general, fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna.

* * *

One morning, Prussia woke up and saw his hand.

This really shouldn't be such a big event, after all, he had his hands with him all the time, and two perfectly good eyes to look at them with, and he enjoyed a lot of activities which happened to require him watching his hands closely. Like getting rowdy at the pub. Cooking. And the more recent one – painting.

But today was a bit special, because today when he laid eyes on his left hand, he hadn't yet put on his ever-present gloves. He'd taken to wearing them even indoors, ever since the 1980s. Even after he'd moved to live at Canada's place, in New Prussia, his left hand hadn't gotten back its full texture and colour; it stayed transparent at the fingertips probably always would, and he hated the constant reminder of how fragile he was, how close he'd been to disappearing.

But today, he woke up to find said hand compact and not-see through. At all. For a moment, he just stared at it, eyes finishing blinking away sleep. Then he flexed his fingers, shifting to lay on his back while he held out the limb in front of his face.

It took him less than ten seconds to confirm that yes, indeed, all of his fingers (even the damn pinky, in which he from time to time didn't have any feeling) were as solid as they'd ever been while he'd still been the Königreich Preußen. With a triumphant shout, he got out of bed, and ran down the stairs to his kitchen, where Canada stood dressed in a comfortable hoodie, and Prussia's slightly too big apron, making breakfast. Not spending a second contemplating if what he was doing was appropriate or not, he grabbed the blond nation, pulling him away from the stove, and pressing him to his naked chest as he spun him around once, laughing loudly and more heartedly than he could remember ever doing before.

"Wha-wha-wha—" Canada stuttered, spatula still in his hand.

"It's healed, it's back, it's fucking _back!" _Prussia almost-sang.

"Um. What is?" Canada asked carefully as he was released and put back onto the floor.

"Look!" he said, thrusting his hand into his host's face. Canada looked.

"Yes?"

"You can see it right?" Prussia said eagerly.

"See what… your hand? Yes, I can see it, but…"

"HELL YEAH. FUCK YOU, WORLD ORDER. THERE'S NO WAY THE INVINCIBLE, AMAZING PRUSSIA'S GOIN' DOWN. EVER. HAHAHAHA!"

Prussia never cared to explain what was so fantastic about being able to see his hand, and he left severely perplexed Canada behind as he exited the kitchen, laughing loudly all the way back up the stairs. Take that, World Order, indeed.


	10. Winter in Canada

Part ten: Winter in Canada

Word count: around 800

Genre: general, fluff

Rating: worksafe... ish

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. And for a bit of fact about Raynaud's, you can also go to Wikipedia. I happen to suffer from it myself, and I can assure you that it's _most_ unpleasant. Apologies for Prussia's mouth and mind. Or should I say _Canada's_ mouth and Prussia's mind? XD

* * *

"It's Raynaud's."

Prussia stared at the other nation.

"Who?"

Canada raised his eyes from Prussia's hand. "Raynaud's phenomenon. Or Raynaud's disease. The cold causes the blood supply to your fingers to decrease. It's nothing dangerous, even if it looks and feels unpleasant."

Prussia looked down at his numb, blue fingertips. When he'd gotten home from his trip to the store, and caught sight of his hands in this state, he'd instantly panicked, his mind providing several horrific scenarios where he ended up no longer welcome in New Prussia, turned down by both his people and his host nation, thrown out of Canada and left on some godforsaken island that would never be called a country, and withered. However, when Canada came out to the hallway to greet him and saw him standing there staring at his discolored limbs, he calmed him instantly.

"So… it's not bad?"

Canada frowned. "Well no, but I wouldn't call it a good thing either. You never experienced this when you stayed with Russia?"

Actually, Canada was usually considerate enough not to talk much about Prussia's time with Russia, as it was a part of his history that he wasn't particularly fond of. Not because he couldn't handle the tall, big-nosed nation, definitely not, but because it'd been the beginning of his own downfall. The end of the occupation had been the end of Eastern Germany, and even up 'til that point, he'd been separated from his brother by force. It hadn't been a happy time in his life.

But it was relevant to Canada's interests to know how long his condition had been going on for, and thus he took the risk to ask either way. And Prussia knew his host nation well enough by now to realize that he was only concerned, and would never, ever gloat in Prussia's – or anyone else's, for that part – less pleasant memories.

"Haven't got a clue," he said, still watching his digits as he poked and prodded at them. It felt so _strange_. "Might have. I was pretty busy with being, y'know, occupied and less awesome than what should be allowed for me."

"I see…" There was a smile in Canada's voice at that, and if the situation with his fingers had been less distracting, Prussia would have grinned back. "Well, the condition is the kind that can appear at any time of your life, often without any special provocation. Just because you've lived in a cold place before doesn't mean that was what caused it. But… You should probably consider getting yourself a warmer jacket. And a pair of gloves," he added, eyeing the thin leather gloves that Prussia hadn't bothered changing out of after the move from Germany's place.

Prussia made a face. "I'm not getting one of those damn _duck jackets _you wear, if that's what you're thinking," he said.

"It's not duck, it's 'Canada Goose'—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He interrupted Canada by lifting one of his hands in front of his face. "So how do I make it stop?! It's fucking creepy!"

"Um…" Canada considered this. "You're supposed to heat them up to body temperature as soon as possible. But gently," he warned as Prussia looked around for the nearest radiator. "If the blood rushes back too fast while your fingers still haven't defrosted, you could end up with bigger problems." He looked down on the blue digits. "Or so I've heard."

Prussia barely stopped himself from flailing. "What the hell do I do, then?!"

"I don't know, I… Maybe if you put them in your mouth?"

"I… what? Fuck no, I'm not gonna go suck on my fingers like some baby!"

"But it might be the only way to heat them up again!" Canada protested. "There is no one here to see you either way, so no biggie, right?" He smiled in assurance.

_You're here, aren't you_, Prussia sulked silently, and glared at the blond, who sighed.

"It's not so bad, really, here give me your hand…"

Before he could have a chance to register what his host nation was about to do, Canada had opened his mouth and propped Prussia's index and middle finger into his mouth with a small 'aahn'.

What the shit.

"I-I'll do it myself!" he hollered and pulled his hand back. "Holy shit man, you didn't just put my fingers in your fucking _mouth _what the hell is wrong with you?!"

Canada looked offended – or hurt? – for just a moment before he lowered his head and apologized. As Prussia continued to curse through a mouthful of fingers, the blond added, as an afterthought:

"And it gets worse if you smoke. Maybe you should lay off the cigarettes?"

Canada was right; it wasn't bad. It was a fucking _disaster_.


	11. Only You

Part eleven: Only You

Word count: around 900

Genre: general, fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna.

* * *

It was in the middle of a meeting that Canada's phone rang. England interrupted his speech about the new, absolutely _smashing _way of making cars require less fuel that his scientists had thought of ("Oh, Angleterre, zeriously, my scientists thought of 'dis _ages_ ago" - "Yeah, mine too! Totally was my idea before either of yours, c'mon who do you think is running this show anyway, of course it's me, the _he—_") with an annoyed look in his general direction – while Canada _had _become easier to distinguish lately, there were still a lot of times when the other nations had problems fixing their gazes at him right away.

He excused himself and got to his feet, exiting the room before he answered the cell.

"Hello?"

"Matthew? _Matthew._" The call was, of course, from Prussia. It still took Canada a moment to figure out who the low voice on the line belonged to, simply because Prussia had never before in their shared history (which was, admittedly, rather short, but still) had called Canada by his full human name. It was always 'Matt' or 'Teis' (or 'kid' or 'sugar' or 'babe', but that was neither here nor there). Nor had he ever sounded this panicked Canada was instantly alerted.

"Gilbert, what is it? _Talk to me_."

"It's happening again. Mein Gott, Matthew, it's _happening again._"

He didn't make himself a fool by needing to ask what "it" was, at least. His stomach made a painful lurch, his heart dropping to the bottom of his shoes like a heavy, cold rock.

"I'll take the next flight home, okay? I'll be right there. Just hang on, we'll fix this. We'll find out what's wrong and we'll fix it. Okay? Hang in there."

He pulled the phone from his ear without waiting for a reply, already dialing the number to the Roskilde Airport. Soon after, he'd booked a too-expensive seat on the next plane to Toronto and a cab to take him to it, and typed a hurried message to America before he ran out of the building.

Ten hours had never felt so insanely long to him. When he finally set foot on his own soil again, he wasted no time putting himself on a bus to New Prussia. Upon the time he knocked on Prussia's front door – he'd forgotten his keys in the bag he'd left in the hotel in Copenhagen – he was too worried to feel how tired and hungry he was. While the seconds stretched out, panic rose like bile in his throat. What if he were too late? What if Prussia had already… Or worse, what if he was so far gone that he no longer had the strength to come open the door, and was just laying on the floor in his house, collapsed, left to fade away while Canada was just _standing _here.

He was just about to go climb a window when the door was flung open and Prussia stood before him, as tall and colourless as ever – except for his eyes, which were admittedly very tired, but sparkling red and full of life. Canada blinked.

"I…" he started, not sure what to do with all the relief that coursed through him all at once.

"Come on," Prussia hurried him over the threshold. Well inside the house, he stuttered out some kind of embarrassed (or at least Canada thought he looked kind of embarrassed, what with flinging his arms around and speaking just a bit louder than he'd taken a habit of doing lately, but you could never be sure with Prussia) explanation which could have served as an apology for making Canada leave in the middle of a meeting like that to come flying across half the world, even though Prussia seemed like health itself.

So, Prussia had woken up the day after Canada had left and felt this numbness in his pinky, yeah? And he'd checked and it'd been nothing, right? So he left it alone, but already that afternoon it had started fading again and he'd panicked and called Canada and…

Canada had raise his hand to stop him so he could ask him uncertainly:

"Your pinky?"

"My _fucking pinky,_" Prussia exclaimed, and held up his once-again gloved left hand. His expression was so wild that Canada didn't dare to question him further, but just reached across the space between them and tugged at the garment. Prussia winced and looked away, but didn't stop Canada as he slid it off his fingers, leaning in to examine each one of them closely.

"I can't see anything," he mumbled. "Are you sure it's this hand?"

"Of course I'm sure, how the hell couldn't I be, it started the same damn way the last time!" Prussia yelled, but turned his face back to scrutinize his hand as well. He blinked. "Huh. It's back to normal."

Canada relaxed. "So… let me get this right; your pinky started disappearing and you panicked? Correct?"

"Uh. Yeah. Exactly."

"But now it's back."

"Yeah."

Canada smiled. "Well, all's good then. You're not dying."

Prussia stared at him. "I guess not."

"Good. Lunch? I'm starving."

"Uh. Lunch sounds awesome?"

* * *

It wasn't until a couple of months later, when Canada left to go visit France for his birthday, and it happened again, that Prussia realized that his pinky paling wasn't a sign of his own dawning destruction, this time.

It was simply just his finger missing Canada.

He stared at the traitorous digit. "You damn sap," he accused it.


	12. Overstepping Borders

Part twelve: Overstepping Borders

Word count: 1200

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. I've never done this much research for fic before, man.

* * *

"Aaaaah _fuck!_"

Canada tore his eyes from Discovery Channel (he'd started out with Mr. and Mrs. Smith on channel 5, but Kumajirou soon took to zapping through channels despite his owners protests, finally settling with a documentary about Africa's insects) upon hearing the enraged voice of Prussia, accompanied by the sound of his front door banging closed. A wisp of cool air rushed into the living room, and Canada frowned as the foul language continued.

Soon, Prussia came stumbling (stumbling?) into the room, still in both his heavy Canada Goose coat and boots. At first, Canada sighed inwardly as the ex-nations stride smeared snow and dirt all over his floor, but then he caught a glimpse of something red mixed into the grey sludge. His eyes widened.

"G-gilbert!" he called out as he got up from the couch. Kumajirou glanced in the direction of the new arrival, but didn't bother to move. When he reached the other, his protégé instantly slumped over, holding onto Canada, as if he'd only been keeping himself up by cheer willpower until now.

"You're hurt, oh my god, you're _hurt. _What happened?!"

"First… get me outta these clothes. Get me some bandages n' sterilizer," Prussia mumbled into his shoulder.

"Ah, o-okay. Stay here, okay? Don't move!" Canada said, and helped the albino onto the floor before he ran to the bathroom and grabbed everything he could possibly carry from his medicine cabinet. When he came running back into the living room, Prussia had managed to shrug half-way out of his jacket, and Canada could for the first time see the blood staining through his thick undershirt. He paled, and kneeled before Prussia with tears in his eyes.

"Don't die, Gilbert," he pleaded, the bandages falling from his numb arms. "Please don't die…"

Prussia snorted. "I'm not gonna die from this, kid, so stop yer bawling." He shifted a little to keep peeling the outer garment off, but halted his movements with a grunt. "A little help here?"

Even through his sobs, Canada managed to make his movements soft as he undressed the ex-nation to the waist, and proceeded to clean and wrap up the wound. It was a small one, but it had tore through a sensitive part of Prussia's anatomy, it would seem, and it hadn't helped that he'd been walking all the way back to Canada's house either.

What in the world had happened to him, anyway?

He didn't dare to ask until he was done bandaging the other, uncertain before then that he would have been able to keep his voice stable.

"Gilbert… What happened?" he asked as he leaned back to raise his hands from his work to Prussia's face. An annoyed scowl spread across the albino's features.

"Fucking Greenland happened," he growled. Canada blinked.

"Pardon?"

"The fucking bastard fucking _shot_ me is what happened! 'I thought you were a polar bear' my _ass_. Like hell he couldn't see it was me, not even he can be dense enough to mistake the _amazing _me for a fucking lame animal. Aren't those things like, a protected species anyway? You'd have to _look _for a worse excuse!"

Canada blinked again.

"Greenland? Shot you?"

"Yeah!"

"…on Canadian soil?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"…eh…" Prussia looked away, and Canada was sure that if he hadn't lost all the blood, he'd have blushed. "Not exactly."

He knew it.

"What were you doing at Greenland's place, then?"

"Uh."

"_Prussia._" Prussia winced at the switch to his official name just as much as Canada's tone.

"I was hunting, okay! I'd been trailing this _huge _thing all the way from Victoria Island, it was _right _before me, like it was taunting me, the stupid beast! And so I kinda… didn't notice…"

The look in Canada's eyes must have told him something about the nation's mood, because he trailed off with a small wince.

"You were hunting at Victoria Island and so caught up that you didn't _notice _when you got as far as to what? Queen Elizabeth's? And stepped over my border," he summarized. "Should I be offended?"

"No?" Prussia said uncertainly. "I swear, it's never happened before, normally I always know when I leave your place, or when you do, but y'see, this thing was just _so—"_

"The 'thing' being a polar bear, I presume?"

"You should've been there, seriously, I've never seen anything like it." The strength seemed to have returned to Prussia's limbs during their conversation – thank goodness their kind healed quickly (when it came to mortal wounds, that was; wounds inflicted on their nation and people through war, and economical depression, however, was another story) – and he flailed a little to emphasise his story. Canada just looked at him.

"Prussia… I'd like to remind you, that the polar bears are – just like you pointed out yourself not one minute ago – a species protected by SARA."

The first time he'd had to explain this to his protégé, Prussia had rolled his eyes and countered with a confident "yeah? Whoever this Sara is, I bet'cha I could take her on with one hand bound", until Canada patiently told him about the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada, and the Species at Risk Act. He had made _sure _that he'd gotten his point across, so he was positive Prussia hadn't forgotten.

Now, his expression told him he definitely hadn't. He'd just ignored what he remembered.

"Uh. It's not been written out yet, has it?" the white-haired man said.

Canada's eyes narrowed, and he stood up. "You can climb the stairs to the guest room yourself, I'm sure," he said, and returned to the couch, turning his eyes to the TV without really seeing it.

Prussia whined from where he was seated, naked from the waist up, on the floor.

"Matthew…"

Canada hmph'd.

"C'mon, you're acting like a woma—"

That earned him a piece of candy-wrapping aimed at his head.

Finally, after threatening to throw him out of the house to crawl all the way back to New Prussia in the snow with his wound, Prussia got the hint and left the room. Canada could hear his heavy steps all the way up the stairs, and when the sound of the guest room shutting closed reached him, he drew his legs close to his body and slumped forward over them into foster position. As the anger faded, he drew a shaky breath and the tears instantly threatened to spill over again. He realized that he _was _acting like a bit of a girl, to be honest, but he was too far gone in his relief to care.

"You big idiot, you _idiot_, tu m'as fait peur…" he mumbled into his knees.

Beside him, Kumajirou pressed a button on the remote, and the channel changed just in time for the ending credits for Mr. and Mrs Smith to come on. Canada raised his head to glance at the screen, and then at his pet, who kept his eyes steady on his owner's tear-streamed face.

"Thank you, Kumakentou," he said with a small smile.

The bear instantly switched back to Animal Police Miami, and Canada was left wondering why he couldn't ever do anything right.

* * *

End note: **_Tu m'as fait peur_** - You scared me (French)


	13. A Moment of Truth

Part thirteen: A Moment Of Truth

Word count: around 860

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Happy Aprils Fool, dear readers! Hope you don't get tricked too badly today.

* * *

While the two brothers' presence weren't a rarity in the small local bar (or rather, _any _bar in _any _place in Germany), it _was _unusual to see either of them drunk beyond the point of caring for which words that came over his lips. They both had a rumour about them to be able to hold their alcohol better than what should possibly be human, but today, the white haired man – the older one, someone had once found out, though it was hard to imagine when judging by his appearance and behavior – had slumped forward with a small grunt and wail already after eight pints. The taller of the two were eyeing his brother with concern as he waved his half-empty sixth class for emphasis during his slurred ramble.

"And then he just told me to go t'my room, like I was some kinda brat. Like he's got the _authority _to command me. _Me, _the fucking amazing Prussia, previous ruler of practically all of eastern Europe. You know?"

Germany refrained from pointing out that Canada, as a matter of fact, _had _that kind of authority over his ex-brother, what with being the country he relied on, that his people paid taxes to, and who's culture he must be severely damaged by by now, if he wasn't even able to take more than eight Weltenburgers before he'd been reduced to a rambling pile on top of the bar desk. Instead, he just took another sip of his own beer.

"Sounds tough," was all he said.

"It _is_," Prussia exclaimed, slamming his glass down hard enough to spill some of the precious beverage on both himself and the bar desk. "It's fucking unbearable. Who's he to treat me like he knows what's best for me?"

_Your nation_, Germany answered in his mind.

Prussia took another sip, glaring into his beer as he set it down again. "Who's he to point his finger at me, seriously. Especially in an apron. _No one _should point at me in an apron. T's like. National offence. He looks too damn good in that apron."

…really now.

"Bruder…" Germany begun, intending to remind Prussia that they were, in fact, in public, and to start making discoveries about one's feelings for another (a fellow man, and his ruling nation, no less) here, probably wasn't the best idea. If he knew his former brother right, which he did, he would be rather loud about it, too.

But he didn't get to voice his concerns, because Prussia had already been lost in the winding forest of Deep Thought. Which Germany didn't have anything against, really, he didn't (no matter how odd it was to think that the ex-nation ever visited that place at all), if only Prussia's mouth didn't have to explain everything he found in there.

"He looks good'n mostly everything. Bastard," he slurred. "Even th' coat from hell. That thing could fit a small family, you know? S'riddiculous. But not on him, nah. Oooh no, no; he has to go make th'coat from hell look good. Can't see it n' not think of him now. Fuck it."

Germany discretely reached over and pried the beer from Prussia's gloved hands. The albino didn't even seem to notice.

"Bet'd ya he'd look better without anything under the apron," he continued, track of thought returning to his previous statement, cheeks taking on a hint of pink. "Or maybe not ev'n the apron. Bet he'd look best of all in nothing at all… Bet he'd look loads better than his brother, damn idiot eats too many burgers…"

Germany stood up from his stool, clearing his throat to make sure he didn't sound as embarrassed as he felt.

"Bruder, I believe that it's time for us to start heading home," he said. Prussia raised his head to stare at him.

"But I've barely had nine yet," he protested.

"Eight and a half will have to do for tonight. I promised Feliciano I'd be home early."

"Didn't know he's staying over." (_That's because he isn't_, Germany thought.) "'Kay," he added, standing up on legs that were – thankfully – not as unstable as his drunken rant would have let on. At least _some _of his German genes were still functioning. "Let's get ya home to your lover boy, then!"

Germany blushed bright red and tried to duck his head (didn't work very well, considering his height) on their way out of the bar, but he could still hear the muffled laughs from the other guests as they walked past them and stepped out onto the street.

Prussia leaned against Germany for support. "But you know," he continued, "I bet he hides a lotta muscles under those clothes. 'Cause really, that bear o' his ain't just fluff. Gotta be pretty strong to lift 'em. An' I've seen what his people do for fun. Chase pucks around the ice and beat each other silly with stick, that's my kind o' sport, fer sure. Bet he's all muscle. Not that he looks it. He looks too damn thin, honestly. Maybe he _should _eat more burgers. Or I could feed him my sausage—"

Germany winced, wishing hopelessly that Prussia wouldn't pick up on the innuendo. Quite hopelessly.

"—heh. My sausage. Hehehehe."


	14. Laundry Day part 1

Part fourteen: Why Laundry Day Will be the End of the Great Preuβen part 1

Word count: around 860

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Time for some UST; can you handle it?

* * *

It didn't take a genius to figure out why every time the bottom in Prussia's drawers begun to show, the white-haired man groaned loudly. It wasn't just that he'd always avoided doing any kind of housework before in his log life, he'd also discovered that he hated doing laundry with a passion. He never seemed to be able to figure out how much detergent to add, or how hot he should turn on the water. Actually, the reason why Prussia didn't like doing laundry wasn't related to the act of washing clothes at all.

It was Canada.

Or course it was Canada; everything that made him uncomfortable and wary lately had some kind of relation to the kind, blue-eyed nation. But this was different from how Canada waking him up too early, or insisting on drinking just a little too much to celebrate every time the right hockey team won, falling asleep in Prussia's couch and forcing the other to carry him up to his room. (Not that Canada was heavy – far from it.)

More than any of that, this was about Canada doing laundry.

Because when Canada did laundry, he obviously chose the more economical ("and kinder to the environment!") option, and washed his own laundry at the same time.

Which left him in the same kind of outfit that Prussia himself wore when he ran out of clothes, however, Prussia's track suit pants were way too big for Canada's slim hips.

So, to sum it all up, the problem was Canada.

In Prussia's too-big t-shirt.

And nothing else.

(Well he was probably wearing underwear, but Prussia's shirt was long enough to cover his upper thighs and Prussia's mind happily provided the mental picture of nothing more being on underneath.)

Plopping down beside Prussia in the couch and sighing contently with his eyes closed.

Prussia found his voice after a few seconds.

"All done?"

Canada nodded. "It'll just be a couple of hours before it's dry." He opened his eyes, smiling even as he rolled his eyes at his protégé. "I really can't understand how you manage to mess it up every single time, though. There are instructions to read on each article of clothing, you know?"

Pruissia snorted, his voice betraying none of his current difficulties to concentrate on anything but Canada's legs.

"Instructions are for wimps! And doing laundry is unmanly! I'm too awesome to wash underwear, damnit!"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "Unmanly, huh?"

"Yeah."

"As opposed to walking around naked?"

"Yeah!"

"I see," the nation said, turning away to hide a smile. Prussia caught sight of the expression anyway, and scowled. He didn't particularly enjoy being mocked by blond kids in way too little clothes, with way too long and annoyingly smooth-looking legs.

"What the hell're you smiling about?"

Canada shook his head. "Mm. Nothing. What would you like for lunch?"

_Your legs_, Prussia's mind said. _And ass_, it added as an afterthought.

"Bacon," Prussia's mouth said.

_Nice save_, his mind agreed. It wasn't too far from the truth, anyway.

"Okay. Glazed?"

"Definitely!"

Smiling widely at his enthusiasm, Canada rose from the sofa to head to the kitchen… and placed his own behind at just the right level for Prussia to get an eyeful. The albino swallowed heavily. Maybe he should learn how to do his own laundry after all.

---

End note: A recipe for Canadian bacon with maple glaze can be found here: www (dot) foodbycountry (dot) com/Algeria-to-France/Canada (dot) html


	15. On The Topic of Ice Hockey

Part fifteen: On The Topic of Ice Hockey

Word count: around 1300

Genre: fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Also, the little I know about hockey, I've learned from sitting beside my brother and father as they yelled at our local team's opponents, and Wikipedia. Meaning, not a lot XD

* * *

"Oh, _no_, you've got to be kidding me!"

Canada wasn't the only one who raised his voice and got his feet; around them at least a thousand upset voices joined him, men of all ages and shapes jumping up to yell at the judge as he pushed two angry Canadian players to the side to hold up his hand.

"_Both of them_?! What? _No!_ No, no; _you can't do that_! You can't take out both Draper and Foote in the third period, you _can't do that_."

The crowd around them seemed to be of a similar opinion, some of them looking like they could easily go as far as to jump onto the ice and beat the living shit out of the poor man in the striped shirt.

Prussia grinned. Ice hockey was fucking amazing.

However, as the crowd didn't seem to settle down any time soon, he soon felt the need to grab hold of Canada's big red-and-white shirt to pull him backwards into his seat again. The nation may not notice it himself in his frenzy, but he was being pushed around by the much larger men around him, someone going as far as to – accidentally, probably, but it still earned him a heated glare from Prussia – elbow him in the face, knocking his glasses askew and smearing his face-paint slightly. The first times they'd gone to watch a match live, Prussia had gotten really upset by it, but when he'd grabbed the guy who had knocked Canada's hot dog into his lap to teach him to properly honour his father nation, the guy had instantly caught sight of Canada, and the mess he'd made of his jacket, and been reduced to a stream of regretful words without Prussia even having to point out his mistake to him.

That was the first time that Prussia realized that Canada wasn't invisible in the least to these people. Prussia hadn't thought about it much before then, but when he did, he came to the conclusion that ever since he'd been properly integrated in Canada's culture, he'd never – not once – had any problem to locate the blond nation in a crowd. He also never mistook Canada for his twin.

It made sense, he figured, that Canada's people would be the same as him. The thought made his chest feel surprisingly warm.

The moment he was seated again, Canada turned to Prussia, eyes sparkling with outrage. "Did you see that?!" he said, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

"Yeah! Fucking lame, giving 'em two minutes…" ("_Four minutes_, all together!" Canada intervened.) "…for something like that. If a player's got reflexes that slow, I say he deserve it. iI/i would've seen it coming from miles away, and it wasn't like they two-teamed him on purpose."

"Exactly!"

"Bet'cha the judge's bribed."

"Eh? Ah… I wouldn't go that far…"

Prussia shrugged and went back to watching the game. The following two minutes were torturous, not because the opposing team managed to strike three goals and thus evening the score, but because before the end of the penalty, Canada was hanging off the edge of his seat, back stiff and jaw lax as he worried at his lower lip, gnawing off most of the paint. Prussia, on the other hand, had a hard time concentrating on the game – it wasn't nearly as fun to watch a match his team wasn't winning – and settled back to watch his host nation instead. It was something he'd found himself doing more and more, lately, and liking to do, too. Canada was pretty nice to look at, even with the too-big hockey shirt over his ridiculously big jacket, blond locks hidden under a furry, white and red hat decorated with antlers.

…oh, he had it bad, alright.

When the penalty finally ended, and Draper and Foote were back on the ice, Canada only relaxed visibly.

It was kind of funny, actually, how serious he got every single time, especially since this was a club match, and no matter which team that won, it'd still be his. When going to local games, Canada had a habit of tossing up to decide who he was going to root for, and then he proceeded to cheering his chosen team on with just as much energy at the other supporters.

It was a strange habit, but none the less one that Prussia added to the list of what made Canada such an amazing person and country.

Not as amazing as Prussia, of course, but still.

Suddenly, a loud murmur erupted through the crowd, and Canada grabbed hold of Prussia's arm. Turning his full attention back to the game, Prussia saw the coach of their team wave the goal keeper to the booth, where another player waited to take his place on the ice.

No way. _No way._

"They're pulling the goalie?!" he exclaimed. "Woah."

Canada shook his head. "It's a good idea, they need the extra player. Plus, even if they lose by one goal they'll stay in the league, so it's okay." But he still looked worried, and bit his lower lip harder.

"But there's only three minutes to go!" Prussia protested. "And he's one of their newbies!"

"Yes. Yes; I know."

God help them. Or someone help them. Preferably the new player on the ice. _You'd better not let me down, sucker_, Prussia thought, glaring at the man as he took his stance for the faceoff.

The final three minutes were even more unbearable than the two penalty ones. Prussia almost didn't register when Canada tightened his hand on his arm almost hard enough to crush bones – even if he wasn't as strong as America, the kid was way stronger than he looked . When the newbie – he hadn't bothered to register his name – caught the puck from his opponent in a nice feint and headed towards the goal, quickly followed by Foote, he leaned forward along with the rest of the audience.

He feinted another opponent. And when a third came at him, he swiftly passed the puck on to Foote without even turning his head. _Oh, the kid's good_, Prussia noted.

Then, suddenly, the roof of the stadium lifted with the holler from the crowd as Foote slipped the puck past the enemy goalkeeper. Prussia only managed to catch a quick glance at the clock as he flung himself to his feet, screaming out his triumph along with everybody else; fifteen seconds. Fuck yeah. There was no way the enemy could score within that time. _No way_, and they all knew it.

They'd won.

"_Hells yes_,", he roared, turning to Canada with a huge grin on his face, and before Prussia could register what was going on, he found himself with an armful of laughing, shouting nation, who clung close to him and—

—pressed his painted lips hard to Prussia's.

Prussia blinked, his brain taking a bit too long to catch up, and by the time he realized that he was _being kissed by Canada_, the blond had already pulled back, a small embarrassed smile on his face. He opened his mouth – most likely to apologize – but Prussia intercepted by leaning down and re-capturing his lips, kissing him as passionately as only he, the Great Prussia, could.

When they pulled back to watch the final fifteen seconds of the game, they held each others' hands clasped tightly. Prussia grinned like a fool as he thought that Foote wouldn't be the only one who scored tonight, if he had any say in it.

* * *

End note: Draper and Foote are both actual hockey players from Toronto, who played forwards in the 2006 Winter Olympics. I have no idea if they've played in any local teams or clubs after that, but I figured they wouldn't have much against being mentioned together in this lil' piece of fanwork ^^;


	16. On The Topic of Ice Hockey omake

Part sixteen: On The Topic of Ice Hockey; omake

Word count: 1010

Genre: romance, smut

Rating: not worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. This takes place directly after On the Topic of Ice Hockey.

**WARNING:** I'd like to point out once more that this chapter isn't entirely safe for work, and that it contains material which might not really be suiting for . I was actually contemplating not uploading it at all, but then I thought that what the heck! It's nothing too graphic either way, imo.

* * *

Prussia had been right, he mused, later that night as he were finally – _finally _– able to drape over Canada's undressed form, pressing the two of them together as closely as he could, breaths intermingled. There was nothing weak about Canada's physical body at all, although he was a bit on the thin side. As clothes had been strewn prettily across the room, they revealed one inch after another of taut muscle and pale skin marred by the few of the scars that their kind never seemed to be able to escape.

As he let his fingers trace a particularly nasty-looking one, Canada told him that one or two of those marks were, in fact, _not _caused by national disasters and war, but by him throwing himself into the frisky battles in the rink. Prussia pulled back and looked up at Canada's flushed face:

"You're a bit insane, aren't ya?" he said. The answer he got was, surprisingly, a smile and a:

"Probably. I'm in love with you, aren't I?"

"Why, you—"

Of course, that demanded some sort of punishment, and he pushed himself up to once again reach Canada's mouth, kissing to distract him as he reached lower and touched; tugged and squeezed to wipe that smugness from his tone, and there were no more talking going on for a long while afterwards.

He'd touched every one of those scars, and let Canada touch his in turn. Canada hadn't seemed to mind how his body was marred, neither did he ask about it. He'd just watched, felt, and accepted.

Much like Canada did with everything, actually. He was considerate to a fault even in bed, Prussia would soon notice. After several minutes during which the two of them rolled across the bed and wrestled as they kissed, Canada found an opening in Prussia's defense and managed to wrap his own fingers around Prussia's hardness and match the rhythm already set by the ex-nation's hand on his own cock. It was done with a frown of concentration, the blond nation fighting to stay focused on his red-eyed partner rather than his own pleasure. Prussia gave a hitched laugh and set to giving him an as hard time as possible, rocking against Canada in time with his hand's rhythm.

The younger nation came well before him, but he wasted no time on being embarrassed, as Prussia would have expected. Instead, he flipped the two of them over gently, and set to finishing his partner by settling between his legs and moving against him in small, rocky motions, made slippery and soft by the fluids staining Canada's own stomach and pelvis. It was so intense that when Prussia came, he had to reach up and crush the smaller body to his own, muffling his shout in Canada's shoulder.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex in this way, in a way that perverted father-figure of Canada's probably would describe as 'make love' rather than 'screwing around'. Not that he'd ever let France know enough about the matter to make the comparison.

Afterwards, Canada got up, and fetched Prussia a dampened towel, before shutting the door to the bathroom behind him. Prussia kept looking at the wooden surface even after the shower started running, a goofy smile practically splitting his entire face.

Oh yes, he had it bad. He had it worse than he'd ever had it before. Not even his feelings towards the old man Fritz could compare to how his stomach lurched when he knew he was the one to having caused Canada to laugh. (Not that him and his previous king had had that kind of relationship; it had been more of a kind of mindless adoration and mutual worshipping, really.)

The sound of the water being turned off in the bathroom interrupted his thoughts, and he turned towards the door expectantly. When Canada finally reappeared in the room, however, he was dressed in a thick robe, his glasses firmly in place, looking like he'd been drying off annoyingly thoroughly, and Prussia's face instantly fell into a pout.

"What, no dripping hair and minimalistic towel?" he asked. Canada rolled his eyes, making no attempt to hide it as he usually did.

"You'd just get ideas to start over again," he remarked. "And I have to get up early and work tomorrow."

"Awww… At least tell me you're not wearing a pajama under that thing?"

Canada blushed and avoided the albino's eyes as he walked over to the bed.

"Oh, come _on_!" Prussia laughed. "We just had sex and now you're suddenly being shy? I can't believe this!"

Canada hung the robe over the edge of the bed, and revealed the cozy-looking, deep red pajama underneath (at least it wasn't one of those ridiculously childish, patterned ones that his brother bought Italy for the times he found it completely inappropriate for the shorter nation to run around naked; not that it helped much).

"It gets cold in here during the nights," the blond said defensively as he placed his glasses on the nightstand.

"You don't have to worry about that when the awesome me is here to warm you, do ya?" Prussia said, pout evident in his voice if not on his face. Canada blinked.

"That's true," he said, looking thoughtful as he regarded his bed and the man laying in it. "Well, okay, then."

He pulled the shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor together with the pants, before crawling back down under the blanket. Prussia had to exercise a considerate amount of self-restraint - seriously, Canada had better be grateful! – not to just roll on top of him and begin another make-out session. Instead, he found himself with an armful of blond North-American nation, cuddling up against him. A happy sigh warmed the skin of his throat once Canada had found a comfortable enough position.

Prussia decided that he wouldn't spend any more time contemplating this, and what it would mean for their relationship as nation and township. Thinking about the meaning of things and their consequences wasn't his style, anyway. Instead, he just closed his eyes, and breathed in the scent of Canada (that not even the shower seemed to be able to wash away); a mix of moistening lotion, snow and syrup. Now he knew that the nation tasted the same was as he smelled, and he wondered if kissing Canada counted as eating sweets?

The final thought that crossed his mind before he passed out was _should brush m'teeth or he'll give me cav'ties_.


	17. A German and His Beer part 2

Part seventeen: A German and His Beer part 2

Word count: around 1000

Genre: fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna.

* * *

It was early afternoon on a particularly crisp and sunny day in September, when Canada's cell suddenly buzzed against his thigh. The display flashed a small, yellow bird chirping happily that he'd gotten a new message from Sir Awesome. Canada's mouth twitched; Prussia had taken a fondness to installing these little features on his phone, and now it showed a bird for the albino, as well as a tank (which blew itself up) for America, a unicorn for England, a dog for Germany, and a… actually, Canada should make sure to change the display motion picture for France the next time he had the opportunity.

As he clicked the 'read message' option, his brow furrowed upon seeing the first, completely unreadable line in… it was German, right? Canada had been attempting to learn a bit of Prussia's previous tongue, but things were going slow with the grammar, and… he actually doubted this was proper grammar. Or spelling.

He scrolled down in hopes of finding at least some kind of hint in English to how he should interpret the message, but there was nothing.

Frowning, Canada typed a reply to let Prussia know he didn't understand, and if what he wanted to tell Canada was important, he should try in English instead.

Before he'd even sent his own message, however, the bird popped onto the display again. This time, Sir Awesome wrote in English. Or, at least Canada figured it was supposed to be English.

_'Matt you shoul coe german with me. Drink lotsa beer next year. Is awesod hells Yeah!'_

…which translated to something along the lines of Prussia inviting him to come to the next Oktoberfest with him. Canada glanced at his watch, quickly adding a few hours, coming up with…

Eight pm. Prussia was already too drunk to type at eight pm?

Over the next few hours, Canada continued to receive several texts and picture messages, all conveying with misspellings and blur how _awesome_ Prussia considered his time spent in the company of his brother, at least 10000 other drunk Germans and enough bees to fill up a large lake was. Canada couldn't do anything else but smile and sigh. He had planned on going with Prussia to Oktoberfest this year, but then he'd gotten stuck with paperwork and meetings all through September.

So now, over the three weeks Prussia would be over in Europe with his brother, drinking himself to oblivion, all they had to keep contact was their cell phones. So far, he'd gotten about one message a day, first one with a picture of Germany in the short (and rather ridiculous looking, according to Canada) pants which were part of his and Prussia's national dress, and then one of Prussia himself in them (and this time, Canada didn't think that the pants looked quite as ridiculous anymore, as they revealed Prussia's legs and framed his well sculpted chest quite nicely). On this fourth night, however, Prussia seemed to have decided texting and taking pictures was about the funniest thing he'd ever done.

When the texts had stopped containing actual words – even attempts at actual words – and looked mostly like Prussia had simply just smashed the keys on his phone, Canada stopped paying much attention and just deleted the messages as they came in. Thus, he almost missed out on the final text for the night (he counted it as being around five in the morning in Germany), which said:

_'miss you. German pancakes doesnt taste ass good as yours'_

He sniggered at the misspelling and couldn't help but to answer playfully:

_'I doubt there are any pancakes in the world that taste anything like my behind.'_

The reply took only a couple of minutes:

_'so when youre goin lett me know that taste lkle huh'_

Canada snorted. He could have sent back a reminder that the reason the two of them hadn't gotten that far yet wasn't in fact, because Canada wasn't willing, but because America seemed to have developed an eerie ability to pop up at Canada's doorstep and demand a movie night or something similar every time they attempted to take things to the next level.

Canada had thought about calling England and beg him to take his twin in for a week or so, preventing hi to act on it when his 'little-brother's-chastity-threatened-by-German-bastard' radar went off. But the thing was that he greatly doubted that England would agree to housing America for that long. Especially if he suspected the reason why Canada didn't want him nearby for that period of time.

The next day, his phone was mysteriously silent. Canada took that as a sign that Prussia was too busy nursing his hangover – or hiding from it by drinking more – to care much for his phone.

On the day after that, he got a surprise as a plate of pasta, surrounded by twinkling stars popped up on his display, happily announcing that he'd gotten a picture message from Italy. Canada had never gotten a message from Italy before, and he clicked on it with his teeth worrying at his lower lip, wondering what on earth the European country could want with him. The message was titled _'Germany sent me; isn't it ~*~CUTE~*~? d(^.^-)--ℓ'_ and it contained a picture of a very, very _oblivious_ Prussia, who laid slumped over a table, one pint of beer forgotten in his hand, and a whole nest of not only one, not even two, but four birds of the same kind that normally accompanied him sitting on his head. There were two more birds perched on either of his shoulders, and a last one had even taken the liberty of diving straight into the beer, and was now using it as a bird fountain of sorts.

Canada was fully on to what Italy meant by 'cute'. Because it was.

He let it replace his own flag as his display picture.

And then he changed France's pop-up gif while he was at it.

* * *

Note the second: I got a pretty awesome fanart for this chapter by srsly_smrt: **img402 (dot) imageshack (dot) us (slash) img402 (slash) 9482 (slash) bowcsodrunk (dot) png**. And to those who have been asking me to keep updating this story; I can tell you that I have 25 finished chapters already, and the story is planned to continue until 30. So, there's a lot more to look forward to, no worries!


	18. To be a Father Figure part 1

Part eighteen: To be a Father (Figure) part 1

Word count: around 750

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna.

* * *

This was, England realized, probably the first and only time in his life that anyone had gotten drunk faster than he had. And that that other person would be America, none the less. The younger nation had been going on about his brother and that "damn bastard kraut" for about half an hour now. England doubted that America even knew what the word meant, but that didn't stop him from using it with feeling and weight attached to it – and use it a _lot _too.

Actually, England wondered a bit if Prussia had really been enough of a bastard to deserve this kind of verbal lashing, considering that each and every time England had met the ex-nation over the last few years, his behaviour had improved considerably compared to how he used to never ever take anything seriously (barely even his own conquests) or care about someone else's feelings before. Back in the old days.

But he guessed America didn't know that. He'd always been awful with keeping up with the history of the world outside of his own borders.

England sighed and took another long sip from his beer just as America left the topic of Prussia's awfully smelly feet and lapsed into a ramble about how _wrong _it was to have to walk in on his brother and that damn German acting all lovey-dovey by the stove, or making out on the couch, or cuddling up in front of the tv.

...wait, what?

"What the hell did you just say?" England put his own beer down on top of the table so hard that he might have been afraid that he cracked the glass if he gave a rat's arse at the moment.

America looked at him and seemed to have a small problem to focus his eyes.

"Huh?"

"Canada and Prussia were doing _what _the last time you visited?" the older nation demanded.

"Y'know, when you furrow your eyebrows like that, I kinda get afraid of the dark."

"You're _always _afraid of the—oh blast, _America_, _focus._ You didn't just tell me that your brother is _actually _having an affair with Prussia? A _romantic one_. It's not just France misinterpreting matters and spreading rumours again?"

America grimaced. "Yeah and it's friggin' disgusting, too. Don't get what he sees in someone that old. His hair's completely white n' everythin'!"

England didn't allow his brain to remind him that age-wise, he and Prussia were about the same age, at least compared to younger countries like America and Canada. His ego could be severely deflated another time. He also refused to acknowledge the small piece of fact it offered; that Prussia's hair was naturally white, and not a sign of old age at all. It wasn't relevant to the discussion, and he also didn't feel like offering_ anything_ that put Prussia in a better light at the moment.

"America, are you perfectly sure? They weren't simply… wrestling? Like you and Matt do sometimes? Perhaps they weren't snogging?"

"Oh they were kissing alright. I don't think I've seen a tongue shoved that far down someone's throat since the time I walked in on France and Scotland—"

"_Enough about that_," England interrupted hurriedly. He pushed his glass further away from him and reached up to rub at his temples, eyebrows furrowing even further. The headache he'd hoped would wait to settle until tomorrow was forming so rapidly he wondered if he wasn't in the risk of having developed a fever.

God, how he'd hoped he wouldn't have had to have this talk with either of the north-American twins. Quite naïve of him, he reckoned, but he hadn't expected the first one of them to overstep these borders to be _Canada, _at least.

"I'm not ready for this…" he mumbled. On the opposite side of the table, America seemed to have been able to focus his eyes on England's face so well that he now had troubles tearing his gaze _from _it instead.

"England…" he said, slowly and with a slight slur, before he giggled. "When you make that face, your eyebrows kind of look like a black McDonalds M."

England glared at his former protégé. America threw his arms up and shrieked, while laughing.

"Dude, don't_ do_ that, gonna give me nightmares f'r a _week_."

Good lord in heaven. Why had he ever taken it upon himself to raise these boys anyway?

Right.

Land, resources and political power. He remembered now.

England just wondered if it'd had been worth the humiliation he'd have to suffer to give Canada the most embarrassing talk of a lifetime.


	19. To be a Father Figure part 2

Part nineteen: To be a Father (Figure) part 2

Word count: 740

Genre: general

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Behold my absolutely failtastic attempt at British English. Why, Swedish schools, do you teach us such Rubbish English, and not the proper one?

* * *

Canada looked like he wanted him to leave and never come back. His way of expressing such feelings may be less obvious and a _lot _less violent than his brother's had been, but it was there none the less. _Don't you worry, I wish to be here just as little as you wish me to_, England thought and steadied his hand as he raised it to take a well-needed sip of his tea.

He wished he'd called instead.

"Imagine… Imagine me frolicking around with Scotland." As he said it, England himself shuddered, and he could see that Canada was equally disturbed.

"Scotland is your _brother_, though."

That was true. Quick, United Kingdom, what else have you got?

"Let's say… It would be like America having sex with Texas."

"…England… Texas is a pair of glasses."

"That's not the point!"

The outburst was sudden, and he realized the slip of control only a second too late. But by then, the damage was already done, and it was too late to try to pick up the pieces of his broken self-restraint. His embarrassment, mixed with a fair deal self-loathing as well as disappointment with the young nation before him – with Canada; _Canada_. Canada was supposed to be the good brother, he who didn't need any _talks_, who was considerate to a fault and who followed the ruled and regulations without England even having to point them out to him.

Not in this case, apparently.

"The point is," England continued, his voice a tad bit too high pitched for his liking, or for the sake of his reputation, "that you cannot be involved romantically with a part of your own land. It's immoral; it's bastardly; it's simply just _wrong_."

"But _why_. _Why_ is it wrong? England… I don't understand; it's not as if I and Prussia are really family; I have simply given him a place to stay and call his own so that he won't have to disappear. And you didn't react like this when I told you before, when you were simply misunderstanding the nature of our relationship."

"That was before the two of you had gotten so inexcusably entangled that most can barely separate one from the other anymore. He's your responsibility now, as much as he would have been had he been your colony. Although, since he is residing on your soil, he's more like one of your brother's states. And that makes your bond one of the strongest amongst our kind. He's _part _of you; surely you must see how this counts as even worse than… than incest of any kind."

England put the tea cup down and leaned forward, grabbing for Canada's hand; Canada pulled his hand back. It was a subtly movement, and with the added shifting into a new position, it might not have been an act of avoidance at all. But they both knew it was.

"Matthew, please…" England mumbled.

"What if I give him independence, then?" Canada interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"If I give him independence. I'll gladly give him New Prussia as a nation if it lets us be together."

…oh god. These young nations. They were going to be the end of him.

"I hope that you do understand that it isn't that easy, Canada. He wouldn't have a base for his own economy, for starters. What would his people live off? _Think_, boy, before you spew such propositions."

"I'd support him, and then we'd think of something. Like Lichtenstein and Switzerland. They have that kind of dependent relationship, don't they?"

"Lichtenstein _is _Swizterland's sister."

"But…"

"Canada," England interrupted with a heavy sigh. "If this is what you wish to do, I cannot stop you. I just ask you to think very, _very _carefully about how you wish to proceed. Know that even we nations have rules and customs which we cannot go against, and incest is frowned upon just as heavily amongst us as it is amongst humans. Both keepings matters the way they are and making New Prussia a new nation completely dependent on yourself is out of the question if you wish to stay in a relationship with him."

Canada looked at his lap.

"Do you understand?" England urged him.

"I. I understand," Canada mumbled. "I'm sorry."

England pretended to accept this as the end of their conversation as he reached for his tea again, but in his mind he wondered exactly what it was that Canada was sorry about.


	20. Eyes Open

Part twenty: Eyes Open

Word count: around 850

Genre: romance, fluff

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. The song stuck in Canada's head during this chapter would totally be Fix You by Coldplay, I realized. That's pretty adorable.

* * *

Canada never kisses with his eyes closed.

At first, Prussia found this little habit to be a bit off-putting, because really, pulling back from a hot make-out session to find the other person staring at you from only as far away as his glasses forced him to be was kind of creepy. No matter how brilliant and pretty those eyes were. Prussia himself kissed with his eyes closed, his focus completely with what his mouth and tongue was doing to Canada's mouth and tongue.

Also, kissing with your eyes open reminded him of France. The bastard used to be so skittish in bed, especially back during his revolution, and yet he insisted on banging every second person he knew (and most of the people he _didn't _know, as well). All while never being able to relax, not before, not after sex. And not during. Instead he'd kept his eyes open and on the door, or window, as if expecting one of his noblemen, or farmers, to come crashing through it. Prussia had gotten fed up with him pretty early on, and refused to ever mess around with him again, but the open eyes still reminded him of those times, and…

And this was obviously not a good thing.

So he had to ask him so stop. Carefully, of course, because he didn't want to risk offending Canada or anything. So therefore, the next time the two of them got caught up in a kiss which Prussia intended having lead to something else, he forced his own eyes open to catch Canada – as usual – stare right at him, and then pulled back.

"Can you fucking stop doing that?" he asked, very carefully indeed. So carefully that Canada almost jumped. Jumping from startle during a make-out session was another thing that had never quite cut it for Prussia.

"S-stop what?" Canada stuttered.

"The starin'!", Prussia elaborated. "It's creeping me out, what's the deal anyway, you trying to look for zits or wrinkles or whatever? If ya are, y'can give yourself a break, kid, because the awesome me ain't got _either_."

Canada just looked at him. "I'm not looking for zits or wrinkles," he said, calmly. "I'm memorizing."

"Huh?"

"Me. Mo. Ri. Zing. You know, making sure I remember what you look like even when you're not there."

Prussia made a face. "Babe… What makes you think I won't always be here? You know I'll put up one helluva fight before goin', if I go at all, and why the hell would I do that when I have this much—" With these words, he added a hard squeeze to Canada's middle; he didn't hold back his strength since he knew the younger nation could take it. "—to lose if I do."

Canada smiled and squeezed him back – Prussia had to steel himself not to cough and ask him to cut him some slack; damn it, this boy had gotten even stronger lately, must me all that working out for the Olympics that he'd been doing – although there was still something hidden in his smile which Prussia wasn't sure he liked. Damn it, this had to be the first time he'd wished the kinder nation's influence over his was even stronger than it was, because one of the abilities that he _hadn't _inherited from his host nation seemed to be reading a mood which was barely there.

"I still like to watch you," the blond said.

"Why? And don't tell me it's because you can't stand to miss a moment of the awesome me or some other romantic crap."

"Well… honest?" Canada asked. Prussia nodded. "You make really interesting expressions when you kiss me," he explained.

"What do ya mean, interesting?"

"I mean, you frown in a certain way when you're focused, or when I touch the roof of your mouth, just behind your teeth, your eyebrows shoot up, and you relax when I nibble your bottom lip, and…"

Prussia shook his head. "Okay, you know what? That is just creepy." Canada lowered his gaze, but he was still smiling.

"Creepy, eh?"

"Fuck yeah it is."

"Okay, so would it be better if I said that it's because I can't stand to miss a moment of the amazing you?"

"Loads better. At least I can relate to that."

"Good, then it's because I can't stand to miss a moment of the amazing you."

Prussia looked down into the now grinning face. And he just had to kiss that grin, and for once he didn't even care about Canada's (now proved creepy) habit. Let the kid do whatever he wanted, as long as he kept moving his tongue and hands _just _like that. And then Canada reached up and helped the bird down from Prussia's head, gently ushering the animal in the direction of the bedroom door, and he decided to ignore the slight creepiness of Canada's habit this time. Just like he always did.

And before he knew it, this habit, as well as everything else about Canada, had become something he treasured.


	21. Professor Preuβen's Experiments

Professor Preuβen's Experiments  
Word count: around 2000  
Genre: humour  
Rating: worksafe  
Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna.

* * *

Necessary preparations:

Step 1 – 6:

1. Insist that it's been a while since the boyfriend invited his brother over (the boyfriend's brother, that is, not your own), without causing suspicion to rise. This part may be a bit tricky, so make sure to keep boyfriend distracted when asking. (For own reference: Good times may be when he's cooking, or ironing. Don't ask during sex; talking about boyfriend's _identical _twin brother during sex never proved to be a good idea before.)

2. If distractions did not work; be sure to dodge all accusations of "being up to something". (For own reference: Accusing boyfriend's brother for borrowing and forgetting to return one of your games always works.)

3. Upon the day of boyfriend's brother's arrival; act normal, fight with brother's boyfriend like you always do; make sure to look and behave like you don't really want him to be around. Be stealthy like a ninja~ (For own reference; touching Canada a lot in front of America always pisses him off like crazy. Touch him enough to keep him grumpy, but not enough to want to hit you and leave like that one time/s.)

(4. Take a pause in the experiment to bug boyfriend to make apple pie for desert. Surprisingly manage to make up with boyfriend's brother by having him bug right along with you. End up having a stare-down with boyfriend's brother because of it and decide that agreeing with each other isn't itoo/i bad if it can get you apple pie for desert.)

_This step is not necessary, actually, but apple pie is fucking amazing, so._

5. Continue to have small (well, according to you, at least) fights with brother's boyfriend thorough the evening, causing boyfriend to get a headache and go to bed early, while telling you with a stern glare that you're welcome to sleep on the couch tonight. Whine for good measure while realizing that this makes the execution of the experiment even easier. Throw pillows at boyfriend's brother while he leaves the living room to crash in the guestroom.

6. Stay awake for two hours to make sure both twins have gone to sleep. (May be smart to either set an alarm or find one hell of a good movie to watch. _Try Cinema +_.)

_Hereby ends the necessary preparations; commence Professor Prussia's 22:nd Awesome Experiment; Operation Four-Eyes!_

Prussia had never been the best at stealth, he admitted that much. It wasn't his style to sneak around; barging in with his sword in hand and yelling for his opponent's blood, paralyzing them all with fear, rendering them unable to defend themselves as he cut them to pieces and seized their vital regions, that was more like him. However, he neither wanted to kill America nor Canada, and he already had as much access to the latter's vital regions as he'd ever wish for, anyway.

No, this wasn't a mission that he would conquer with sword in hand; this demanded something a bit more delicate.

Sneaking.

And a plate full of syrup for Kumajirou.

The moment he pushed the door to Canada's bedroom open, the polar bear lifted his head from his place in the cot over by the window. Prussia hushed the animal and put the plate before him, patting his head a couple of times before he glanced at Canada's sleeping form. If the blond had woken up, he'd (hopefully) just assume that Prussia had come to give Kuma a midnight snack or something similar, and not suspect that anything was up. That was what Prussia counted on, at least.

But Canada hadn't been woken up, and thus Prussia could continue with his plan. He lingered a moment by Canada's bedside, watching his boyfriend's face, beautifully relaxed in his sleep, however with a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows. The gravity-defying curl hung before his face, and it fluttered in sync with his breathing. As Prussia reached out to poke at it, Canada made a slight noise, and rolled towards the albino, the wrinkle evening out. Prussia shook his head, smiling. Then he suddenly realized that this was just _way _too sentimental for him, and he stood up once more. Making another shush-face at Kuma, he grabbed Canada's glasses from the bed stand and left the room.

America was going to be trickier, he thought, as he snuck down the hallway towards the other bedroom. He knew Canada's sleeping habits well enough, and the younger twin was also used to Prussia's presence and wouldn't register it as a threat, but America was much twitchier, despite what one might think when he was awake. Prussia knew this from experience; one of his first experiments had consisted in attempting to booby-trap the door to the guest room once when America stayed over. The end result had been an America who woke up screaming about ghosts, a very wet and angry Canada and Prussia having to spend half the night searching for Kumajirou, who had left the house through Canada's window, panicked by the unexpected sounds of America yelling and Canada getting a whole bucket of icy water over himself.

No, he wasn't going to make that particular mistake again. This time he was going to take it slow, one step at the time.

And not rattle around with a steel bucket in America's doorway.

It would prove to be more difficult than he thought, however, to be stealthy like a ninja. Upon reaching the guest room, he quickly stopped himself from entering as he heard a voice mumble through the wood. He stared at the door. America was making a phonecall? _Now? _It was one am, for fuck's sake, who the hell could the brat be calling at this time of the night!

Prussia's curiosity got the better of him pretty damn fast, and he leaned closer to the door, pressing his ear against it.

"—of course I didn't. When will you learn to trust me, honestly? I'm not so incompetent that I don't know how to handle my own brother, England. He doesn't suspect a thing. Yes, I know that if he thought that I'm making him and Prussia fight on purpose, he wouldn't let me come stay over any more. …I kno- I _know_. Damn it, old man, who do you take me for?"

Prussia furrowed his brow. So, that was it huh? America and England were conspiring against him and Canada? It wasn't like he cared much, honest, because he knew his host nation wouldn't fall for that, and he'd already known that neither England nor America approved of their relationship, but it was still pretty damn low of them to talk behind their backs about it. Bastards.

Prussia almost had the urge to barge into America's room and yell "busted, you fucking back-stabbers!" at him, but that would ruin the whole operation, and that meant he'd asked Canada to invite the idiot over, giving him an opportunity to mess things up for them, for no reason what so ever. And he couldn't have that.

Plus, he was still curious.

So, instead, he headed down the stairs once more, giving America about another half-hour to end his call and go to bed. It was half an hour well spent, he decided in the end, as he looked down in his note-book, where the next part of Professor Prussia's Awesome Experiments had already begun to take shape (number 23: exchange England's flour with baking powder, which he'd hopefully be able to name Operation Exploding Scones – perhaps even oven – afterwards).

At last, around two am, was Prussia able to carefully, carefully glint at the guestroom's door, to find America sleeping soundly (and all over the place, with one leg flung outside the covers and the edge of the bed, and both his pillows on the floor; honestly, could two twins be any more different?). Prussia made the exchange swiftly and left the room on tip-toe.

When he'd finished the preparations back in Canada's room, he grabbed the empty plate from Kumajirou's bedside and headed back down to the living room. Now, all he had to do was to get his awesome beauty sleep (not that he needed it!) and wait for morning to come.

And morning came.

It started out _amazingly_.

With America coming tumbling down the stairs.

"Wh-what the hell?" the older North-American twin yelled, laying in a heap by the foot of the stairs. Prussia was out from under the quilt which had served him well as blanket for the night within seconds.

"What the fuck are you doing, trying to tear down the place?" he asked, looking the nation up and down, taking in the messy hair, the rumpled clothes, the pained expression behind the _rounded glasses_.

"No, I was just—Owww my leg, ouch, ouch, I think I twisted my ankle, shit _ow_."

Prussia didn't mean to laugh. Really, he didn't. But this was turning out to be even more fantastic than he'd hoped for.

Until Canada came tumbling down the stairs as well.

"Owwww…" the younger twin groaned from on top of his brother. "What is going on, I can't—Prussia? Did you booby trap the stairs again?"

"No way, honey, I'd never do anything to risk hurting you," Prussia squeezed out between laughing hiccups.

"Then what—where are you, I can't see—" Canada squinted up at him through the squared frames of Texas. "I think there's something wrong with my—"

"THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH TEXAS!" America interrupted. His expression was wild, now that he'd managed to crawl out from under Canada and was examining his surroundings. Prussia thought that he looked ridiculous, with his eyes looking distorted and oddly proportioned in Canada's glasses.

"I think my eyesight's just gotten even worse…" Canada mumbled, plucking Texas off his face to wipe the glasses with the end of his sleeve. About half-way through the movement, he halted himself, blinking.

"Al… can I have a look at your glasses?"

"No, you can't! I don't have time for this, I have to get back home, what if there's been an earthquake, a tsunami, maybe there's a war coming, and the Texans are claiming independence? _What if I'm being attacked by terrorists?"_

Prussia was happy that he'd thought to steady himself on the doorframe, otherwise he might have fallen over from laughing at this point. And things only get awesomer as Canada tackled a hysterical America to the floor (knocking his own nose on the other nation's forehead in the process, but luckily without giving himself a nose-bleed).

"Al, _Alfred, _calm down, wait a moment, _please_," Canada insisted, grabbing for the glasses on America's face. Once he got them off, he pressed the ones he'd been holding onto America's nose instead. America blinked, confused, as he was able to focus on his twin's face, blurriness gone from his vision as if through magic.

"What…?" he asked, confused.

"These are Texas, and here," Canada pressed the smoother shaped spectacles to his own face," are my glasses. See? No terrorists. Everything's as it should be."

Prussia couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You're _faking_?" he burst out, his voice almost breaking around the laughter. "What are you wearing those for if you don't need 'em, you trying to look smarter or something? Holy shit, man, you should know it's no use; you'll always look like the idiot you are, you know?"

Two pair of identical, narrowed eyes – well, except for the different shapes of the glasses worn on each one of them, was slowly turned towards the ex-nation. When he re-told the story to Spain later, he'd flail wildly while claiming that it was _just like one of Japan's horror movies, I'm not fucking kidding ya!_, but at this moment, all he could think of was how _much _he suddenly felt like taking Kumajirou on his morning walk.

He announced this hastily, before grabbing the bear and retreating hastily out the front door. It wasn't like he was running away, really, because the Great Prussia _never _fled from a fight. It was just… a tactical move to ensure his final victory. Which he'd have to think of a way of ensuring _right now_.

Because he didn't count the prospect of sleeping on the couch for the remainder of the week a victory of any kind.

Not to mention not getting his breakfast pancakes.


	22. Last on the Agenda part 1

Part twenty-two: Last on the Agenda part 1  
Word count: around 3400  
Genre: general  
Rating: worksafe  
Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. I haven't had time to work with this chapter quite as much as I wished to, as I found it pretty hard to write for some reason, but I realize that I won't end up changing much at all at this point, so I might just as well post it. Un-beta'd (as you can probably tell).

* * *

Ever since early May, Canada, and his office, _and_ his house had all been in a constant state of chaos. People were running in and out the offices, and the phone rang at least twelve times a day. Prussia had to climb over a new set of boxes in the hallway every time he came to visit, and he grew more and more annoyed with anything and everything that had to do with planning a meeting. In his days, they'd just written a letter, and then the other nations could show up or not, whichever they wanted; bring your own lunch and tent. Either that or they'd invaded their vital regions whenever they'd wanted to. (Well, at least Prussia had.) No need to hold complicated meetings that demanded months of planning beforehand for that.

Of course it worked differently today. He got that, and he'd learned to respect that. What he didn't get was why _Canada_ had to host the first G-20 summit of 2010. He'd already been responsible for planning and hosting the winter Olympics (Prussia hadn't minded the Olympics, though. The Olympics could require as much planning as they wished, because the end result had been fucking _amazing_, if you asked him. Canada winning at hockey had also resulted in the best sex Prussia had ever experienced. Ever.) the same year already, this was asking _too much_, in Prussia's not-so-humble opinion. Even if the nation _hadn't_ been as timid and quiet as he was around the others, it would still have been a disaster in the making.

Why?

Because the 2010 chairman of G-20 was, in fact…

"Mister Korea, I've already told you that I cannot provide private estates for each one of you for the week," Canada told the phone, a slight hint of panic lacing his voice. "I've booked a very luxurious hotel, yes of course it has its own spa, but a whole… N-no, I don't think that the chairman living separately in a mansion will give off a very reassuring image at all… yes, of course I can attempt to book the top suite for you, mister Korea, however, if we could return to the issue of Haiti… Yes, I know that it was over half a year ago, but the need is still dire… no, I don't think that making an anime about it would suffice as giving it the attention it needs…"

Prussia tried to convince Canada to take a break over the weekends at least, but every one of his plans were interrupted by phone calls, and sometimes also visits from America, who didn't seem to be able to keep his fingers to himself, not when the location of the summit was so close to his own home.

The final result was – naturally – a perfectly planned meeting, and Canada losing way too much sleep. The ex-nation couldn't quite figure out why he went to such measures, since they all knew that a summit led by Korea couldn't become anything else but chaos. But Canada had something that he needed to accomplish with this meeting, something that weighed heavier than the lost sleep (and weight). So he set his sights on being an as perfect host as possibly could be, both to boost his own self-confidence and score a couple of points for the proposition. Because he suspected he'd be needing it.

The first day of the meeting was dedicated to reviewing the last half year's progress, checking budgets and calculations. Prussia didn't even attempt to talk his way into those sessions. He made a point of showing up at the dinners each time, however, because _someone_ had to make sure it didn't end up too dry and boring, right? No one knew how to let go like he did; they should all be grateful. Many of the nations – his own family in particular – seemed quite surprised to see him as he joined up with the lot of them. Prussia wasn't exactly known to want to involve himself with politics. But as Germany pointed out; he was quite safe from risking any kind of involvement in economical discussions if he only spent the evenings after the meetings with the rest. And there was free food and drinks. Prussia grinned at his ex-brother and raised his glass at him.

The weekend proceeded according to plan, and soon enough it was Monday and as Canada got up in the morning, and pulled on the crisp shirt and pressed slacks, he looked at Prussia still stretching out under the half-way kicked-off covers, and hesitated halfway through tying his tie.

"Is that just me or are ya dressing up all extra-fancy today?" Prussia drawled, rolling over onto his stomach, head propped up against his arms.

Canada smiled, but he avoided looking Prussia in the eyes in the mirror. "Maybe a bit." He continued folding, over, behind, through… "Yours is in the bathroom."

"My what?"

"Your suit. I was thinking you could come with me to the meeting today. You know. Before everyone leaves."

Prussia snorted. "Why the hell would I do that. Eyebrows n' America's fights ain't anywhere near interesting enough for me to wanna spend _hours_ just waiting for it."

Canada's smile turned into one a tad bit more honest.

"I realize that, but… It's the last day, and I'd really like you to be there with me."

Prussia raised an eyebrow.

"How 'bout you tell me what's really going on, huh?"

"That is what's going on." The honest smile was gone once more. Canada turned entirely towards the mirror again, trying his hardest to focus on the tie and not look over his own shoulder to see if Prussia was still watching him with those enthralling red eyes of his.

"You're an awful liar, Matthew. Definitely ain't taking after your dad in that aspect."

"How many times do I have to tell you; France isn't my _father_, and England isn't my _mother_ either."

"Don't tell me _Eyebrows_ is the dad, 'cause no one's gonna fall for that. Canada, he _knits_."

"No, I mean—"

"_And_ he collects hand painted tea-cups."

"I'm still asking you to come with me today."

Prussia grins. "What do I get?"

"A few hours more of my company?"

"And…?"

Canada finishes his tie and turns around.

"I'm open for any mutually beneficial demands you may insist on to agree to this treaty, oh Great Preussen."

"Say 'Sir Awesome'."

Canada nodded. "Sir Awesome."

Prussia pulled himself to a sitting position. "If I think of anything else, I'll add it to the terms and demands list later."

"Fine by me. Now, get in that suit or we'll be late."

"Hmm, I definitely think that attitude will have to go if this cooperation is to work through the day."

"I'll see what I can do about it. If you put the suit on within the next five minutes."

By lunch time, Prussia was so bored that he hallucinated. Or at least he thought that he was hallucinating, because that was the only plausible explanation that he could find to what he was seeing; England and America _talking civilly_, actually getting along, and due to that; a meeting not turning to chaos within an hour after Korea had declared it opened. Most of the nations were ignoring both their host and the current speaker (no one cared much for China's economical report for the last year; the numbers he presented with a badly hidden smirk on his face gave both Greece and England expressions like they wished to stab him, and so ignoring him really did seem like the better option), England and America used the opportunity to move close together and whisper between themselves, all while sending Prussia looks of vehemence over the table.

Well, if they were going to be like that, he might as well be sure he deserved the looks. He grinned back at them and snuck his and down from the table to let it land on Canada's leg, where he sat to Prussia's right, and gave his upper thigh a good squeeze. Canada yelped and jumped a bit. Luckily, due to people's never-failing ability to forget about the blond nation's presence, no one noticed, besides America and England (and probably France, but what the hell, he'd probably just approve of Prussia's behavior either way), the action didn't disrupt the meeting at all, otherwise he'd probably have caused Canada to get angry with him. The looks on the two who did notice faces were priceless, however. England reached for his ever-present cup of tea to hide his very, very unattractive expression, and America scowled darker than ever. "_I win_," Prussia mouthed, causing England to spill the tea as he twitched, _hard_.

Once China sat back down, sometime around eleven am – he'd just had to bring up all those statistics, didn't he? Just listening to him made Prussia feel sick to his stomach; he didn't even want to think about how it must feel like for the other nations; they actually still _had_ a GNP which was affected by the crisis – Korea straightened and tried to look like he hadn't slept through the entire account. He could have spared himself the trouble, Prussia thought; as he beamed at the other Asian nation, China promptly ignored him.

"Well, that's pretty much it," Korea said. "Unless someone wants to add something" – he looked at America, who was still mumbling silently to England and glaring at Prussia, who stuck his tongue out at him – "I say we go for lunch now! I'm super hungry, what about you Aniki?"

"Why are you asking me, aru; you're the chairman—"

"A-actually."

A timid voice from somewhere to Prussia's right interrupted China. He, along with everyone else in the room, was surprised to find Canada on his feet with one of his hands raised high and cheeks burning.

"I h-have something else," the North-American nation stuttered.

"It's not on the agenda," Germany pointed out, scanning his papers with narrowed eyes, as if squinting would reveal something that he couldn't possibly have over-looked, and therefore must be deliberately keeping from him.

"Um. No, it's not. B-but since we have time over before the scheduled lunch…" Canada said. Prussia raised an eyebrow at his host nation, wondering what he was up to, exactly. Canada didn't look back, he just proceeded to fumble with a stack of papers which he handed to Prussia with a silent "can you pass these out, please; please?" Now, normally, Prussia would have refused such a tedious request the moment it was uttered, and had done so on several occasions in the past. And really, the reason why he didn't refuse this time was simply because his legs were cramping up from all the sitting still, and he felt that taking a walk around the table would do him good right now. It was as simple as that, and no one had the right to call him a lapdog just because he happened to help his host-nation out in the mean time. Because he was doing this on his own accord, yes.

As West raised an eyebrow at him when he walked past him and Italy, he stopped in his stride to direct a carefully executed grimace at his ex-brother. He was no lapdog. Nuh-uh.

When he'd finished his lap around the table, he made sure to aim a glare at Canada for making him do such a thing (not that he hadn't wanted to go that round himself, because otherwise he wouldn't have, he wouldn't!), and the blond smiled apologetically at him before turning back towards the assembled nations.

"Now, if you, um. L-look at the paper before you, you'll see a rather easy formula which calculates the founds and management required for a successful development of a government and national economy, as well as suggestions on trading treaties and—"

"America," Germany interrupted, glancing up from his paper."

"It's C-canada, Mister Germany," Canada corrected him. Prussia noted happily that the tall nation at least had the courtesy to get red around the ears upon being reminded of his mistake.

"Yes, of course. Canada. I believe that we can all recognize the numbers and calculations, however, you haven't yet told us what you mean to use this plan for."

"Yes, I mean, no, I haven't. My apologies." Canada ducked his head, and Prussia could see him draw a deep breath. He wrinkled his eyebrows slightly while watching his host extra carefully. That was when he noticed exactly how tense Canada was; his spine a straight line under his suit, his hands shaking even as he pressed their soles against the table.

Something was up. Something very serious. Which Canada had completely failed to let Prussia know about prior to asking him to come with him to the meeting. What the hell.

"It is—" Canada cleared his throat. "It is for New Prussia."

"Haaaaah?" The outburst came from Prussia's, England's and America's mouths together. But Canada ignored the shocked stares he and Prussia were receiving, and kept explaining that:

"I intend to lend the financials required for New Prussia to begin founding their own independent government, international relations, and GNP."

"You're gonna let him be independent? His own nation?" America asked, wide eyed. Canada just nodded in reply.

"Have you gone completely bonkers?" England exclaimed. This time, Canada shook his head.

"As you can see from the curves, I haven't only inquired into all possibilities with outmost care, but I have also made sure that this will be cared through by the aid offered from me only, and it is also possible without causing too much imbalance to my own GNP, and—"

"Fuck the curves, it isn't about numbers! Canada, I know you think that you know this man by now, but I assure you, he's not what you think him to be! He's a barbarian, and he will not change, he will continue to take advantage of you, no matter how long—"

"The fuck are you saying, you damn freakbrows, the hell do you know about me, eh? I'll tell ya what; now a fucking thing! And you know even less about Canada, that much's fucking crystal clear! Just because you were too obsessed with your own power to think even once 'bout their happiness or anyone else than your own pathetic self, but Canada's different from you, he's better than you've ever been, you selfish bastard."

"How _dare_ you—"

"Gilbert, please—"

"Bruder, calm yourself."

Prussia was at least a little bit pleased to see that America didn't step him to help England as he stood from his seat and shouted insults at Prussia. Instead, he looked like he was thinking hard – something that Prussia imagined could have proved very difficult for the older of the North-American twins. Around them, the room was quickly turning into a smaller warzone, as most everyone took the opportunity presented to them in order to turn on anyone and everyone which they might have a problem with currently. As usual, France and England had grabbed for one another as soon as the argument broke out. Prussia would have gone around the table to help France out – France of all people! – but Canada clung tightly to his arm, preventing him from moving away from his seat.

Instead, he had to settle for shouting, and as he swore loudly at England across the table, he glanced at Germany to see if he wasn't going to slam his hands down as usual, but upon checking on his ex-brother, he also saw that the blond was struggling quite hard himself, to free himself from a vicious attack by a big amount of cats which had mysteriously appeared at his feet, clawing at his dress pants under the table.

By one of the window seats, Greece watched the tall Germanic nation's struggle with a pleased smile.

Korea unsuccessfully attempted to get everyone to pay attention once more by happily shouting "Shut up, shut _up!_" for a few minutes, and when China's patience ran out, slipped the the Asian nation something under the table. In the next moment, Korea was standing on top of the table, gun in his hand, and two loud gunshots echoed through the room. In an instant, 19 faces were turned towards Switzerland, who shook his head in denial and pointed towards their chairman.

"Shut up, everyone!" Korea said, smiling widely. He reached behind him and gave the gun back to China with a "thanks Aniki, that was really cool, can I borrow it again sometime?" before he turned around again and pointed at Canada. "I don't get what you're trying to do, here, but since independence originated in me—" At this, America straightened and opened his mouth, but the Asian continued without paying him any heed. "—I at least would like to see what Canada's planning. Yes?"

"No." England – who sported a rather nasty-looking bruise below his eye – had taken his seat to America's left once more, and his glare had intensified further after the brawl with France. "I'm against this, the calculations are loitering with mistakes and the idea is absolutely daft to begin with. Of course it's not going to work, have you completely lost your marbles, Canada?"

"I don't see a reason not to attempt it," France interrupted. "And I also suggest that we all help out Canada and Prusse – excusez-moi, I mean _New_ Prusse – as much as we can. It is a question about love and life, after all. Of course, I don't expect you to lend a 'and, Angleterre, in your current state…"

"Why you—"

Korea stomped his foot to call on everyone's attention once more, and since he was still standing on top of the table, it was quite effective. England and France, at least, were both distracted as they swore to themselves and attempted to save their clothes from the different beverages they'd kept on cups or glasses in front of them.

"I vote postponing!" he shouted. China looked up at him with an annoyed wrinkle between his delicate eyebrows.

"Why, aru? I think it's an easy enough thing to vote for—"

"Well, it's lunchtime already…"

"—on the other hand, we might need some more time to study curve by ourself to see how this decision affect us, aru. Postponing sound good, yes?"

And so, it was decided that the vote for whether or not Prussia would be proclaimed an independent nation would be brought up once more during the fall's G-20 meeting in Seoul. Korea sat back down in his chair and decided the meeting finished, thanked them all for participating ("And not killing each other this time either, though you were really cool, Aniki, pulling out a gun like that; did you know that the mafia originated in me?") and dismissed them. The moment they were allowed to go, Canada bolted for the door, Prussia close in tow. Without exchanging a word, they decided that a calm, quiet lunch at home – as opposed to one spent together with their respective families (and alcohol; _England_ and alcohol) at the hotel – was just what they both wanted right now, and they ran as fast as they could to Canada's car.

Well in the car, Prussia turned to his host nation, panting slightly.

"You… since when have you been planning this?" he asked.

"Oh… Um." Canada's breathing wasn't labored at all, much to Prussia's annoyance; he'd fallen behind on exercising _again_. "Since November? I think. England talked to me about some laws and stuff and so I thought that since breaking the law isn't something I willingly do, and all, I should… And…" He trailed off as he glanced at Prussia's stony face.

"Really. And when were you planning on telling me about it?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise… I hadn't expected them to oppose this much, though."

"_Duh._ Your brother and mom hate my guts. They'd rather see me on the bottom of the ocean than as my own nation again."

"It's not like tha—"

"_It's like that_," Prussia interrupted. "Were we going home or what."

Canada swallowed and turned the key, with a defeated look in his downcast eyes. However, as he turned around in his seat to look backwards as he drove out from the parking lot, he found himself with Prussia's lips pressed against his.

"Still appreciate the thought, kid," the ex-nation mumbled, tone gone soft once more. "Now, let's get the fuck out of here." Heaven help him of West - or worse; France - caught him acting like such a softie. But hell of Canada hadn't gone through a lot of trouble for him today. He knew how much the timid nation disliked standing out, and how bad he was at sticking up against the likes of America and England, and still he'd done it, for him; for Prussia. And it had hurt him, Prussia could tell, that he had to do so, and that he hadn't been able to do more.

_Well, babe_, he thought, _you're not the only one who can make arrangements in secret._ They just wait, he thought; he's show them that Prussia - the _real_ Prussia - was still a force to be counted on.

* * *

End note: …no, China's pattern of speech isn't a grammar mistake. It's supposed to be like that.


	23. When You Want Something

Part twenty-three: When You Want Something, You Take It

Word count: around 2233

Genre: smut/romance

Rating: not worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Beware of possible (hopefully not) OOC-ness on Prussia's side. Un-beta'd.

* * *

It was rather unusual for Prussia to wake up and find Canada still in bed with him. Rarely in his life had he met such a morning person; sure, Germany has always insisted on getting up sometimes before the fucking sun had even risen, but Germany didn't count. Canada wasn't a soldier. Not a real one, not like West or himself.

Maybe that was the reason why Canada _didn't_ make good use of the mornings he could just lay around and not do anything useful, Prussia thought. Canada was normally up and about the house around seven, taking Kumajirou for a walk before he set to making him and Prussia their breakfast pancakes.

Today, however, Prussia woke up to find Canada still lying beside him. Not only that, but the blond was also watching the ex-nation intently as he blinked and stared back into those blue eyes.

"You're watching me sleep," Prussia stated, his voice hoarse with sleep. "That's a bit creepy."

Canada just smiled. There was a hint of some emotion to his expression that Prussia couldn't quite place, but he decided it didn't acquire his immediate attention as Canada rolled off of him and onto his back, raising his arms over his head and stretching in what must have been the most suggestive way one could imagine. Suddenly Prussia was waking up faster than he could remember himself ever doing before, unless under sword or gun threat.

Then Canada rolled back onto Prussia chest, and this time he could easily identify the mirth in those eyes as he craned his neck and placed a quick peck to Prussia's unshaven cheek, before moving down to press another one to his adam's apple. Then he rocked shallowly against Prussia's side, with a tiny moan, and the albino sucked in a loud breath.

"Are you suggesting what I think you are?" he murmured, reaching up to flatten his palms against Canada's bare back. "This ain't some kinda trick to get me to take the bear out for once, is it?" He glanced towards Kumajirou's bed, only to find it empty.

Canada still didn't answer by any other means than the light kisses, which now continued to fall lower on Prussia's chest, accompanied by feather light touches to his stomach and hips. By the time Canada reached for the hem of Prussia's boxers, he was certain that his host nation was indeed suggesting what Prussia had been thinking, and he happily helped the blond to push his underwear down over his hips.

However, when Prussia then reached over to do the same with Canada's boxers, he noticed two things. One; Canada didn't seem to be _wearing_ any underwear. And two; he also wouldn't let him get closer than so that he could confirm this fact; the moment Prussia attempted to touch the same way he was already being touched, Canada inched away, lower, until he was pressing his chest to Prussia's erection, his mouth showering little kisses over the albino's stomach.

Had Prussia not already known very well that Canada rarely talked during sex, otherwise he'd had gotten even more worried by the small, mysterious smiles that he flashed up at the ex-nation. As it was now, the glimpses of teeth so very close to certain sensitive areas sent shivers up and down Prussia's spine. Then Canada went to work, and the shivers were soon the least overwhelming of the sensations he experienced. Soon he had his hands buried in Canada's hair, tugging and pulling to help the blond set the pace.

There was no response.

Prussia tugged harder, wrapped his fingers in Canada's curl. Canada moaned softly, but he didn't react beyond that. This was new; normally, when having his curl touched, Canada would lose his mind and lose control over what he was doing entirely, only to be reduced to begging, begging, begging Prussia for more, for anything. Prussia enjoyed these reactions more than he could ever say (not that he didn't say how much, actually he liked to let him know as often as he could how much he enjoyed seeing Canada beg, often in entirely inappropriate situations, more often than not embarrassing Canada so badly he couldn't do much else but blush and stutter for half an hour or more), so he had to say that this new ability to control his reactions wasn't at all as much fun in Prussia's opinion.

But then Canada was moving back up over him, pressing his torso against Prussia's as he repositioned himself over the ex-nation, and before Prussia had any time to speculate, or even ask what he was doing, he found himself enveloped once more, although this time by a heat so intensely tight that it sucked the breath straight out of his lungs.

"H-hey, kid, not that I'm complaining, but what side did _you_ wake up on today?" Prussia gasped, as Canada took a moment to sit back and wiggle about, adjusting the angle. Once again, all the got as a response was that small, mysterious smile that Prussia had already learned to recognize as something he should watch out for.

No, Prussia certainly wasn't complaining. As they lay in a heap, afterwards, limbs tangled up, Canada resting on top of Prussia, breathing finally evening out, sweat cooling, he thought about the changes his life had gone through in the last twenty one years. And then he halted himself, blinking. Twenty one years? Had it really been so long already? To him if felt like it was barely months since he'd moved to live with the North-American nation. He resisted the urge to lift his hand and count on his fingers, both because that'd look pretty stupid, if Canada were to regain his senses and ask Prussia what on earth he was doing, and because in his heart, he knew that the major changes his own person had gone through since the nineties hardly could have taken less than twenty years.

Actually, he would have expected it to take longer, considering he'd been pretty much the same during his entire lifetime before coming to stay with Canada. No matter how fierce the battles had been, or how piercing the loss, or how peaceful (_boring_) the times of peace, or how uncertain the period of changing from Prussia into Eastern Germany, had been, he'd stayed the same. Going with the flow, barely caring about the influences he had on the world as long as he got to fight, drink beer and laugh at his opponent's dumbstruck faces when he wiped his bloody sword on their capes (or, in France's case, in his hair; oh god, he'd loved the look on the other nation's face upon Prussia's happy exclamation of "oups, looks like I took a chunk o' this with me, but you've got enough hair left to look like the whore you are, at least, d'you want me to take the last remains of your manhood off as well?").

The days during which he'd enjoy such things were over, he knew, as he looked down on Canada's face, peaceful and content. Well, except for the beer, naturally.

And for some reason, he didn't feel even one bit sad.

"Hey," he said, after a good two minutes of just breathing together and gathering up their wits. His voice came out raspy, rough from the earlier exercises, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "Care to tell me what this is all about yet?"

Canada lifted his head. "Do I need a reason to want to do this, eh?" he asked.

"Nah," Prussia replied, "and believe me, I couldn't appreciate the change of pace more. Was just wonderin' what's on your mind, s'all." Only a year ago, he'd have hesitated a lot more to ask the next question, too afraid to bring up anything at all that could lead to discussion _feelings_ of any kind, but he wasn't Prussia from twenty one years ago; he was New Prussia, township and lover of Canada, the most good willed nation that ever existed, and he might as well accept it. "Is it about the verdict?"

The G-20 were meeting again in November in Seoul, and at that time, the verdict for Canada's proposal to make New Prussia an independent state, as well as aid him in funding his own GNP and government, would be delivered. Prussia knew that Canada thought about this a lot. Not that he got why the blond let it bother him so much; the question was already out there, he'd argued this point as well as anyone could have done.

"I…" Canada hesitated, and used the pause to shift to the side so that he was laying only half on top of Prussia, his head rested against the albino's shoulder. He reached down to arrange the covers around their waists, and then he drew a deep breath. "I know it's stupid to think about it this much, but I can't put it out of my mind. I know I only did what I have to for us to be together, but…"

"But won't that other kid be pissed that you're going through this much trouble for me? That's what yer thinking, ain't it?" Prussia suggested.

"Quebec and I aren't in a relationship, though," Canada said. "There's no need for us to be separated, and he understands that."

"I find that hard to believe," Prussia muttered, himself being well aware that Quebec was probably the one who was the most pissed about his and Canada's relationship. But he shook his head when this earned him a questioning look from Canada. He didn't want the kid to know about the fights head had with his so-called "brother" about the influence he'd had on Canada. He had enough to worry about as it was.

Before he had to find a way to explain himself, however, the door swung open with a soft creaking, and Kumajirou made his way into the bedroom. In his mouth dangled a small package, perfectly wrapped in white paper with golden maple leafs, decorated with a golden bow. The bear took a moment to observe the couple in the bed, before he apparently judged the situation safe enough, and jumped up on top of the covers. He sat down besides Canada and placed the package on the blond's stomach.

Canada blinked.

Prussia gaped.

"Kumapenny… is this for me?" Canada said, disbelief lacing his voice.

Kumajirou just gave his traditional "who?" response, but Prussia thought himself being able to sense a slightly smug tone in the bear's voice. However a bear could sound smug, he didn't know. Hell, polar bears weren't supposed to talk in the first place, but then again… Kumajirou wasn't your ordinary polar bear, either.

"Oh, Kumapenny!" Canada exclaimed, and got up from Prussia's embrace to put his arms around his white companion instead. "Thank you! I didn't think you'd remember!"

"Remember what?" Prussia said, still eyeing the animal suspiciously.

"And you did all of this yourself?" his host-nation continued, apparently too lost in his happiness to even register that Prussia was talking to him. "That's wonderful, it's so pretty!"

Prussia frowned. "Did _what_?"

"Get me a birthday present!" Canada said, finally turning back towards his boyfriend. His face was lit by a bright smile, his entire being was glowing with some kind of ethereal light, and Prussia realized that this, this was something that was really huge for Canada. (How long had the two of them been entirely unable to remember one another, really?) Then, his host-nation's words registered.

"Your birthday? Wait… today?"

Canada's eyebrows tilted upwards, turning his smile slightly apologetic. "I would have reminded you, but people tend to forget no matter if I do or not, and things have been so hectic this year, with the Olympics and all, so…"

"Oh hell no," Prussia exclaimed. "I'm not going to get out-done by a bear. What do you want? I don't care how impossible it is, I'll getcha _anything_ you ask."

Canada shook his head. "I've already gotten my gift from you."

"What, when?"

Canada put Kumajirou back down and leaned over to give the albino a kiss to his cheek. "Just now," he said. "Thank you, it was the best gift imaginable."

Prussia's head was spinning; this was the first time Canada was this forceful in bed (not that he was very forceful, not compared to some of the partners Prussia had had in the past, but it was unusual for Canada to take what he wanted without letting his concern with Prussia get slightly in the way). And he'd liked it, liked it a lot, actually; it had woken a certain kind of longing inside him, to be able to use Canada in exactly the same way some day, although Prussia wasn't sure was completely ready to give in to such urges yet.

Perhaps another time. For now he was just going to lay here and watch Canada rip the paper off his gift (to reveal a pair of Canada's own, used socks; apparently Kumajirou's generosity had stopped at getting a gift for his master at _all_), and try to figure out a way to get out of the house at some point of the day and get the other nation a gift without rising suspicion or letting Canada realize that he hadn't planned on pretending not to remember from the beginning.


	24. Oktoberfest 2010 part 1

Part twenty-one: Oktoberfest 2010 part 1

Word count: around 1700

Genre: general, fluff

Rating: worksafe-ish

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Did ya miss me? :)

* * *

"…do I have to?"

Prussia looked offended as he answered. "Duh."

The two of them were standing in the living room in Germany's house, Prussia with his arms crossed over his chest and Canada holding up an article of clothing between them with a slightly suspicious look on his face. Prussia, on the other hand had already declared that while hadn't ever worn lederhosen in his life, and wasn't planning on starting now, but both Italy and Germany were already wearing theirs, and apparently that was reason enough for Prussia to not be able to see why his host nation was making such a big deal out of them all of a sudden. He'd already tried them on at the store, hadn't he?

Canada sighed. He knew that it would be rude to continue to act hesitant to put on the garment, especially since it had been a gift to him for his birthday this year. From Germany and Italy, none the less. Also, once they left the house, everyone else they met would most likely be wearing lederhosen as well, so it really wasn't that big of a deal, was it?

Still, Canada couldn't help but to feel that grown men wearing shorts _with suspenders _wasn't quite right.

He sighed.

"I guess I'll… go and put these on then," he said, and as Prussia's face lit up like America during Christmas, he didn't even have to force the smile onto his face.

As he turned to go back up the stairs to their shared room, he ran into Italy, who was already wearing a slightly modified (to the better, as expected by the very-fashionably-aware nation) version of the national outfit himself. Italy practically bounced where he stood as he regarded Canada.

"You're going changing now? You're even later than me!" he said. "Germany doesn't like it when we're late, even to celebrations. And these clothes are a little tricky to put on. I always have to ask Germany to help me and then we run even later because he _really _likes seeing me in these clothes you know? So it's not always my fault that they have to wait for us, at least I don't think it is only my fault."

Canada only barely prevented himself from giggling. Italy would never stop being adorable, no many how many years that passed. Canada was also probably one of the few nations who didn't get even one bit scandalized to hear the European talk so openly about his and Germany's relationship and what it withheld, what with the north-American being quite used to France.

"Prussia didn't offer to help me, I'm afraid," Canada said. "Maybe if you…?"

"Oh, I'd love to! I've gotten pretty used to these straps and stuff now, and since last year, I've even learned how to tie my own shoe-laces!"

Italy beamed at him. Canada wasn't sure what him tying shoe-laces had to do with his or Canada's own lederhosen, but he decided to ignore the statement as Italy grabbed his arm and pulled him along up the stairs.

Even with their combined efforts, putting on the shirt and pants took them at least double the time it would have taken Canada to put on a tuxedo. Finally, after Italy had had to call out "we're almost done~" in response to Germany's angry knocking on the door three times, they could put the younger nation in front of the full length mirror and inspect their work.

Canada thought that he looked ridiculous, and said so too, but Italy just giggled.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll fit in perfectly. And I'm sure Prussia will like this very much," he said, hiding the devious tilt of his smile behind his hands.

Canada raised an eyebrow. "O… kay. If you say so. Thank you, Italy."

"No problem!" the shorter nation sang, and before Canada had gotten a chance to decide if he shouldn't just stay home after all, Italy opened the door and disappeared down the corridor and stairs with a loud; "We're done, we're done~ Just wait 'til you see him, Prussia, he's so _cute_!"

And then there was the laughter and squeal which indicated that Prussia had simply picked Italy up straight from his run and swung him around.

"_You're _so cute, Itacakes!" Prussia's voice came from the bottom floor, and Canada smiled. The first times he'd come with his boyfriend to visit Europe and had seen the albino and brunette together, he hadn't been able to decide what to make of their relationship, as Prussia seemed to make a point out of sticking pretty much as close to Italy as he could come, falling asleep in the Italian's lap and picking food from his plate, hugging and praising him until Italy's ears were red simply from too much glee.

Germany had taken mercy on Canada one evening during the second time they visited and explained to him that Prussia always behaved a bit "odd" around Italy.

"I believe that he is merely doing it to attempt to spite me," he said, watching Prussia talk Italy into tasting a piece of potato from his own plate. Canada asked Prussia later that night, and had the suspicious confirmed that "I'm just messin' with West, ya know? His face gets frikkin' hilarious when he's jealous, have you seen?"

However, as he regarded Italy and Prussia together from that point on, he saw for himself that that was only half the truth; Prussia also cared deeply for the smaller nation. If it was because of his ex-brother's feelings bled into his own or just because Italy _was _the kind of nation that you fell helplessly head-over-heels for, he didn't know, and he didn't care. It was as platonic as adoration ever could be, he recognized, and thus, with Canada never having been one that was prone to jealousy, he didn't mind.

Now, he used Italy's earlier arrival down the stairs to his advantage, letting the brunette distract Canada's pale-haired boyfriend while he descended himself. When he finally stood in the hallway outside the living room, he cleared his throat hesitantly.

Prussia turned towards him with a cocked eyebrow, as if to ask him what the hell took him so long. That single eyebrow was soon joined by his other one, his expression turning into one where no annoyance – feigned or other – took any part. Canada could feel himself blush under the suddenly very intense stare he was receiving. He felt quite ridiculous already, and he knew this outfit couldn't possibly fit him, so he'd feel better if Prussia would just let it go and allow Canada to go back upstairs and change back into his own clothes to match his lover's more casual style.

Italy poked his head out under Prussia's arm, looking up at his brother-in-law's face, and he giggled.

"Prussia, your mouth is hanging open, you look really funny," he said, and poked the albino lightly in the side. Prussia blinked and shut his mouth, still looking at Canada.

"I, uh. We should get going."

That was all. Canada lowered his gaze to the floor and willed Oktoberfest to be over already. When Italy tugged at his sleeve (Prussia seemed to have forgotten something in the bedroom and had rushed up the stairs without another word), he followed silently. Italy leaned closer so that he could whisper loudly:

"See, I told you he'd like it!"

Canada smiled awkwardly, because though he didn't share the Italian's interpretation of his boyfriend's feelings for Canada in his national outfit, he didn't want to seem impolite and ungrateful, when Feliciano had helped him put the garments on and everything.

"He practically couldn't take his eyes off you," Italy continued, even less discreetly, as he bounced down the steps outside the front door. "Germany looks at me the same way every year; it's a good thing I was there! I don't think you'd get to taste any of their beer tonight otherwise… but maybe that's not such a good thing? German beer is too strong for me, I almost can't swallow it and then I get dizzy after only two glasses and—"

"Italy," came Germany's deep voice from the sidewalk outside the garden fence. Italy instantly interrupted his ramble and ran up to the taller nation, smiling.

"Look, doesn't Canada look nice in his leatherhosen?" he said, nudging Germany to turn his attention towards the other blond on the path. Germany glanced at Canada.

"Very. But it's called _lederhosen_, Italy. Now, where's _bruder_ disappeared to? We're going to be late."

"Prussia ran upstairs when he saw how cute Canada is," Italy said, and his smile tilted in the same way as before, a tilt which reminded Canada distressingly much about his own brother when he'd thought of a particularly good plan to annoy England with. He didn't know which scared him the most; America, who had access to nuclear technology and barely any self-restraint, smirking like that, or Italy, who weren't supposed to be able to _make such an expression_ _in the first place_.

Germany cursed under his breath (was he _blushing_? Canada couldn't be sure, since he didn't know the European nation that well, but he _thought _that his cheeks had gone a bit red) and started walking towards the house, but before he'd even reached the steps, Prussia walked out the door, his usual confident grin firmly in place.

"What're you ladies hanging around here for?" he called in a loud voice. "Here I thought that we had a party to attend!"

Canada drew a deep breath as Prussia slipped into a pace beside his host nation and let his arm rest lightly on Canada's shoulders on their way to the nearby park (which for the occasion had been turned into a huge bar, almost every part of are covered with party tents and benches – Canada didn't think he'd seen this much beer and bare male legs in his life, and to be quite honest; he could have survived without the experience). At least he didn't seem to have anything against being seen together with his boyfriend, no matter how awkward he looked.

_Small favours_, Canada thought as he pulled at the leather shorts and straps and tried not to look as miserable as he felt.

Prussia's bird jumping onto his shoulder and chirping only made him feel marginally better.

* * *

End note: End note: Prussia isn't wearing lederhosen because. Well. Just because. Actually, a friend suggested to me that they wouldn't be his style, or really a part of his cultural heritage, since Bavaria isn't part of Eastern Germany at all. Then, a reader pointed out to me that Prussia is, actually, wearing lederhosen in the earlier chapter mentioning Oktoberfest. I'll get back to that in a couple of chapter ;) More on Oktoberfest here: en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org (slash) wiki (slash) Oktoberfest


	25. Oktoberfest 2010 part 2

Part twenty-one: Oktoberfest 2010 part 2

Word count: around 2000

Genre: fluff

Rating: worksafe-ish

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. I hope the presence of an OC in this chapter won't offend anyone. I've tried to make his appearance as brief as possible, without losing the purpose of his appearance (I'm not too fond of OCs myself, y'see ^^;).

* * *

Canada had decided to take it very careful with the drinking the first evening. That plan worked for about one hour, before he was suddenly grabbed hold of and pushed down onto a bench beside Prussia, who handed him a pint with the urgent request to "at least outdrink Italy and I'll deal with West, okay?" and then rose his voice to bellow out over the gathered crowd; "Okay,shall we get this started then, guys, or are we just gonna sit here and _stare _at the beer all day!"

Before Canada even knew what was happening, he was chugging down beer to the sound of the crowd cheering. On the opposite side of the table, Italy was sipping on a glass of his own, scrunching up his face as he attempted to up his tempo, while Germany seemed to have opened some kind of dam in his throat and was _pouring _one pint after another down it. Canada stared. Could a person really drink that fast, he wondered? Or was Germany simply just not quite as human as the rest of them? Could the influence of their people do something like that? Did Germans really love beer _that _much?

He reminded himself to ask Prussia about it later, before he took a deep breath through his nose and doubled his own efforts to drink faster. He should be able to out drink Italy, at least, and he didn't want to be even more of an embarrassment to his protégé – _lover_, he added in his mind; he had decided to switch to calling Prussia as such officially the moment the others in G-20 had approved of his independence – than he already had.

Upon glancing at Prussia, however, he almost choked. Because Germany wasn't the only one who could open up a secret pipe in his throat exclusively for beer, it seemed. Before his eyes, Canada saw Prussia down a whole pint in less than five seconds.

_No way._

A third bird took its residence on top of Prussia's head.

These people… couldn't be for real.

Across the table, Italy slumped forward after having finished his first pint. He groaned a little and looked at Germany with big, teary eyes. The blond man shook his head in a "not now Italy" gesture, and the small brunette pouted. Canada watched the whole exchange over the top of his third pint, and realized that the dizziness in his vision wasn't solely to blame on his glasses sitting askew. He was beginning to feel the alcohol already. But glancing first at Prussia, then at his eight empty glasses, motivated him to reach for a fourth one of his own.

In the end, Germany and Italy won with nineteen and a half to seventeen. Canada had had six. Italy only ever finished that first one.

* * *

When the clock struck midnight, Prussia was drunk to the point where his arm around Canada's shoulders was _far _from light anymore, and his legs were rather unstable, but his mood was as bright as ever. Despite the loss against his brother earlier, even. He convinced Canada he "wasn't some girl that needed to be babied" before he stumbled towards the bushes, and in his own dazed state, he didn't bother to protest much. Instead, he went and bought himself the biggest hot dog he'd ever seen – a Frankfurter, he reminded himself; not a hot dog – and sat down in the outskirts of one of the smaller tents to wait for Prussia to come back.

It took some time for his to register that someone was talking to him, a voice he didn't recognize calling out a bit too loudly a bit too close to his ear, and he jumped and almost dropped his Frankfurter in his lap. The person beside him laughed.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you like that." It was a young man around his own (physical) age; dark hair and glimmering blue eyes swam into his line of view as he squinted through the dark. He wasn't wearing the same kind of outfit as most of the other men at the celebration, and Canada was rather relieved to not find himself being addressed by someone who's legs he'd have a very hard time not staring at during the whole conversation.

"Oh, um," he stuttered. "It's fine. I was just surprised."

The stranger smiled and raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Well, I'm not used to people being able to… see me…"

And then, suddenly, he realized how absurd it was that this man had sat down to talk to him at all. That he'd been able to spot Canada in a crowd. To most people, that alone was a feat worthy of some kind of reward.

The next thing that came to mind was the lack of the German tongue in the man's speech. Canada narrowed his eyes and took a second look at the other, closer this time.

"You're a tourist?" he asked.

"Not quite. My dad is German but my mom's Canadian, actually," he said. "My name's pretty weird because of it; have you ever heard of anyone called Evan Hirsch before?"

Ah, that explained it. Canada's smile turned warm, and he leaned in slightly – perhaps even a bit more than he would have if he hadn't been influenced by the alcohol, but he barely noticed the difference himself, and the stranger didn't seem to mind.

"It's not that bad," Canada said. "I like it." It reminded him of New Prussia. Of him and Prussia.

"Heh. And you?"

"Me?"

"Are _you _a tourist? You don't look like you're from around here."

Canada shook his head. "I'm here with my… close friend and his family," he said, uncertain about how open one should be about the nature of his and Prussia's relationship in a place like this, even when talking to one of his own. Or, half his own. Probably not too open, he figured. "I'm actually from Canada, as well," he finished.

"Hey, I _knew _there was something familiar about you!" Evan said happily. "That's great, mate! How are you liking Germany? What's your name, by the way?"

Canada nodded. "Matthew Williams. And it's been a very nice stay."

He had to admit it; though he had a lot of fun hanging out with Prussia, Germany and Italy, trying out different brands and having every new tent presented to him, the history of that brew explained to him, he enjoyed being able to just sit here with Evan, chatting about his own home and comparing the two nations' culture to one another. It was relaxing, and for a while he even managed to forget his embarrassment over his state of dress.

Until Evan moved even a little but closer and placed his hand on Canada's naked knee that was. At first, Canada just stared at the limb, blinking slowly and letting whatever he'd been saying trail off.

"I'm really happy I met you here, Matthew," Evan mumbled, leaning in a bit further. "I feel… strangely calm with you, I can't quite place it. And you look fantastic in your lederhosen, too."

Canada opened his mouth, but didn't manage to get anything out. Him, fantastic? In these pants?

No, wait, that wasn't the issue…

"What do you way to you and me getting out of here, sweetheart? I can tell you've had enough of smelly Germans and sausage, and I've got—"

The fist to Evan's face silenced him quite effectively and sent him flying backwards over the table. Canada stared at the empty space where the man had been seated, before he turned his face slowly towards his savior, and found himself with an eyeful of furious, heaving Prussia. His hair stood on end, and the birds which had accompanied him during the evening seemed to have flown off to new masters.

"The fuck you will!" Prussia growled. "Keep your fucking paws of _my man_, y'hear me? Fucking _hurensohn_, who the _shit _do you think you are? You should learn to respect your fatherland's property, _schwein_!"

Evan, who was groaning from his location somewhere around ground level on the other side of the table, didn't seem to have a coherent answer right away, and Prussia apparently wasn't to be in the mood to wait for him to recover either. He grabbed Canada's arm and pulled him along away from the tent, then past the next one, and the next one, until they'd cleared then entire festival area and walked along the road towards his and Germany's house. Canada walked after him and tried to keep up with his fast paced stride as good as he could, but the alcohol in his system, along with the confusion over the abrupt ending to the previous conversation – as well as the sudden turn the conversation had taken – left him off balance and when he stumbled over his own feet, he ended up with his face in Prussia's back.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry!" he said.

Prussia stopped and turned around so suddenly that Canada hadn't even found the time to pull back yet, and instead he found himself staring into Prussia's chest from a very close distance. That was, until Prussia had grabbed him again and pressed him into said chest.

Canada bit his lip. Prussia had been worried, he figured, since he'd been gone a rather long time, and probably weren't too happy find his host nation being chatted up by some guy. Worse was; from his point of view, it probably hadn't looked like Canada had had that much against Evan's advances. He had to be honest; the feeling of comfortableness had been mutual. Before Evan had exposed his true intentions, that was.

Yes, the albino had every reason to be angry with him, he thought, and that realization kept him frozen in the other's grip, until Prussia drew a deep breath and pulled back.

"What the hell're you apologizing for?" he said, his voice rough with alcohol and fury.

"For… I don't know," Canada said, not daring to look up.

"I should be the one apologizing," the ex-nation continued. _Now, _Canada looked up, honestly surprised.

"You…?"

"Shouldn't've left ya alone like that, even if I were 'bout to throw up n' show my not so awesome side," he continued, turning his head to the side. "Y'don't know how some people can get when they've had one or two or three Bitburgers too many. And with you looking like that…" He hesitated, glancing at Canada before he raised one hand to scratch the base of his neck. "So, I'm sorry."

Canada might not be very good at interpreting Germany's expression, but Prussia he knew well enough to be able to make out a blush even in the weak light from the street lamps.

"With me looking like what?" he asked. Things were finally beginning to fall into place for him; Italy's comments earlier in the day; Prussia's suddenly odd behavior; the looks he'd been receiving from most everyone around him… Prussia's unwillingness to stay at a further distance than one foot from him… and then finally Evan's inability to – quite literally – keep his hands off him.

There really seemed to be something about lederhosen that hit an odd spot inside the Germans.

"Like. Like _that_," Prussia explained with a vague gesture to the blond's lower body.

Canada smirked, all thoughts of the fight and his own responsibility in it forgotten.

He'd gotten his fright for the night, as well as fair share of 'real beer', as his protégé – _lover_ – liked to put it, and both the thrill of danger, which begun to set at a tickle in the pit of his stomach once he didn't have to worry about Prussia being angry with him anymore, and the alcohol, helped to make him bolder than normal. Despite standing in the middle of a lit street, he raised his arms and curled them around Prussia's shoulders, pulling the ex-nation's mouth to his.

When he allowed the albino to pull back, he was still smiling.

"You know… I really am not used to these kinds of clothes. It was an awful hassle to get them on, even with Italy's help. I think I could really use some help to get them off again," he said.

Prussia smirked right back.

"Lucky for you you've got the amazing me, then."

Canada nodded. "Very lucky for me," he agreed.


	26. Oktoberfest 2010 part 3

Part twenty-six: Oktoberfest 2010 part 3

Word count: 1600

Genre: fluff, romance, smut

Rating: ot worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. We've caught up with my LiveJournal updates, ppl! Only 4 - 5 more chapters to go!

* * *

Despite not being very drunk anymore (the fight, as well as the walk back to Germany's house through the chilly October evening had done its job very well with sobering Canada up), Canada still stumbled a little over the threshold, and had to steady himself on Prussia as they entered the hallway. Prussia caught him easily, even though he was even more unsteady on his feet than his host nation. Canada giggled as he watched the albino fight with his shoe-laces, only to give up in the end and keep the shoes on all the way to the bedroom.

As he restarted the procedure inside of the doors to their shared guest room, Canada tapped him on the shoulder.

"Do you want help with that?" he asked. Prussia studied him for a moment.

"D'you really wanna risk getting down on your knees in front o' me right now?" he said, grinning.

Canada shrugged. "What's the difference between now and in five minutes?"

This caused Prussia to give a throaty laugh and grab for him, but Canada evaded him easily and slid down onto the floor, reaching for Prussia's feet. Once he'd untied the shoelaces, he raised his gaze to Prussia's red yes, regarding him with a soft smile.

"I really don't know how to get my lederhosen off," he said. "Italy had to help to get me in them, so you're going to have to help me get out of them."

"'Course," Prussia said, grinning back down at him and raised his hands to fumble with the suspenders' straps. "Dunno if I wanna help you quite yet, though," he added. "Y'look fucking hot."

Canada had a hard time believing that, but whatever made Prussia happy (in the pants), right?

"How exactly have you planned on proceeding if my pants are still on, eh?" he asked, amused.

"Damn it… Fuck if I know."

Seeing Prussia look so conflicted over the issue of Canada's pants almost had the blond laughing again, but he decided maybe he should stop ruining the mood by being a giggly half-drunk, and get on with it. So therefore, once Prussia had managed to untangle himself from his jeans, he wasted no time with reaching inside his underwear and pull out his still soft member. Giving it a few experimental strokes, Canada suddenly remembered something, and he frowned.

"What about Italy and Germany?" he asked.

"What – _ah_ – what about them?"

"Are they… are they still at the park?"

Prussia seemed to have to take a moment to focus. "No, they left before we did. West had't carry Itababe h-hommmme god that's, _yeah_…"

Canada halted his pumps. "But that means they're here, now!"

"Don't fucking stop, gott!" Prussia whined. "Why're you worrying about them now either way, you wanna propose a foursome or something?"

Scandalized, Canada gave a small, angry squeeze, which didn't serve its purpose at all as Prussia moaned and hardened further. "_No_, you weirdo," he said. "But, won't they hear?"

"Who gives a shit," Prussia shuddered against the wall as he answered, obviously impatient. But Canada wouldn't leave the issue alone just yet.

"Does… What does Germany think of…"

"Why d'you think he put us in the same room to begin with? Stop _worrying_, kid," he insisted, before he wound his hands in Canada's hair and nudged his head gently. The younger nation knew what that meant, and he decided to let Prussia worry about _his_ family the way he saw fit. After all, Canada had been left to handle _his_ "relatives" on his own as well, and they were both mature adults who had been independent a long time. Or in, Prussia's case, an adult of questionable maturity who had lost his independence. That didn't mean he were any less able to handle his family, however.

At the time being, he should probably stop thinking about either of their closest ones, however, because Prussia sure didn't keep anything but the two of them, alone in their bedroom, in mind. Judging by the empty look on his face as he guided Canada over his shaft, he might not even be paying _that_ full scene much attention.

…oh well, Canada would simply just have to keep things interesting enough to keep Prussia's mind on edge through it all then.

By, let's say, reaching down into his (godawful) shorts and grab hold of his own slowly awakening arousal, moaning around Prussia as he did. His silver-haired lover looked down at that, and swore colourfully as he saw what Canada was doing.

"Fuck, yeah, that's hot, babe, don't stop, you love it don'tcha, you love…"

Canada had never been able to stop feeling amazingly embarrassed by Prussia's habit to use dirty talk during sex, and this time was no different. He blushed hotly and halted his movements for a moment. That moment was enough for Prussia to collect himself and take control of his own limbs once more, and he yanked Canada away from his member and onto his two feet in a movement which was a bit too rough and had the blond wincing. He started to pull his hand from his pants as he stood, but Prussia stopped his hand.

"Don't stop, shit, keep touching yerself, y'look amazing."

Canada blushed even deeper, but he complied, moving his hand as much as the garment allowed. "You like seeing me in these that much?" he mumbled, the sound of his own voice surprising him as it came out low and rough. Prussia inhaled sharply at the sound (or at least Canada thought that his voice was the cause of it).

"Hell yeah," Prussia answered on the exhale.

"I… if you like them that much, why d'you refuse to wear them yourself?" Canada wondered, voicing the question he'd been mulling over in his head the better part of the evening.

"Not my thing," Prussia answered conversationally.

"But last year…"

"Holy shit, Canada!" the albino interrupted. "Are we going somewhere with this or are ya gonna keep questioning about some fucking _pants_ I got wagered into wearing a full _year_ ago?"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "You lost a bet and they had you wearing lederhosen?" he asked bemused.

"What of it? West knows I don't like gettin' mixed up with his cultural heritage, I guess. And I didn't lose a _bet_, t'was a contest, and I was already drunk like fuck when it started otherwise I'd _never_ have lost in th'first place."

If Canada was supposed to have stopped his laughter to be considerate to his protégé, he failed considerably. He was still sniggering when Prussia picked him up and flung him over his shoulder with a sullen face, carrying the blond over to their bed and throwing him on it. He was still smiling as the albino undressed him, and when the ex-nation finally laid down and covered Canada's body with his own, he reached up and twined his hands around the other's neck, pressing his lips against his own still smiling lips.

_I love you_, he thought, but there was still hesitation even in that thought, so all he said when they pulled apart was: "Please…"

"Please what, Matt?" Prussia grinned down at him.

Canada glared and bucked his hips in response. "Don't make me say it," he warned.

"But I like seein' ya embarrassed," came the teasing response. Canada glared harder.

"I figured. Okay, but I'm just going to say this once; if you don't take me right now, I swear to all that's holy that I'll flip you over and do it to you instead."

Prussia was never so fast to grant his wishes as when he added a threat to the request.

Honestly, one had to wonder if the ex-nation wasn't secretly a masochist.

* * *

The next day, Canada still couldn't help but feel really hot and uncomfortable during the four's shared breakfast, as Germany gave a small speech (probably meant to be aimed towards his brother, but Prussia was too busy digging into his toast to seem to give the taller German much attention) about the importance to respect other people who might want to really sleep in the same house. When he fell silent, Italy tilted his head to the side.

"Ve~ I didn't have any problems sleeping, Germany, I don't understand what you're talking about…"

"I am speaking about _bruder's_ irresponsible behavior, Italy, this has got nothing to do with you—"

"Suuuure it doesn't," Prussia interrupted, looking up from his toast, on which he had spent a good five minutes trying to paint a bird in marmalade on. "Just 'cause Itababe fell asleep before you'd even left the park and couldn't give ya head, or tail either for that part, doesn't mean you get to take it out on me and Matt. We weren't even that loud."

Canada wondered if excusing himself at this point would seem very rude, or even cowardly.

Italy, on the other hand, seemed to have reached enlightenment at Prussia's words.

"Oh, Germany, did you want to make love tonight? I'm so, so, so, sorry, I didn't know, I wouldn't have fallen asleep if I knew, you should have told me! But then again, I was asleep so how could you tell me…?"

Prussia barked out a laugh. "_Make love?_ Oh my god, West, look at you, quite the husband you are!"

This time, Canada didn't doubt that even a complete stranger on the street would have been able to make out the blush on Germany's face. The tall blond stood from the table, as Prussia continued laughing, saying something about needing to get to the park early to help cleaning for the new day. Italy got up as well, and wound his arms around Germany's neck, pulling him down to his own level to kiss his cheek.

"Have a nice day, Germany!" he said. "I'll make pasta for dinner tonight, so don't stay out drinking too long, okay?"

Prussia fell to the floor, laughing so hard he was clutching his stomach against the pain.

Germany almost ran out of the house.

* * *

End note: A reviewer pointed out in response to the last chapter that it's kind of funny how Prussia and Canada seem to be the only ones in Hetalia capable of forming a healthy relationship. I laughed so hard upon realizing the irony of that statement XD


	27. Canada's Boyfriend

Part twenty-seven: Why America Doesn't Like Canada's Boyfriend

Word count: 1900

Genre: family, humour

Rating: worksafe-ish

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Let's try for a little America point of view! I've never written America before, so please don't be too hard on me ^^;

* * *

America really didn't like Canada's boyfriend.

It didn't really have much to do with Prussia himself, to be honest (not that he'd ever let the man know that), neither did it have to do with him not wanting to get on England's bad side for no real reason. (The situation between him and the island nation had always been delicate, and as the deal with Prussia and Canada had become something for the two of them to bond over, America saw having to play the role of the Bad Guy at his brother's home – something he'd been doing for a long time before Prussia entered the picture either way – as a low price to pay in order to repair his and England's frail bond. At least a little. He _did _like being friends with people more than fighting them, after all, even if it was hard to help when people – _especially _England – tended to disagree with his awesome ideas so often.)

No, America really not liking Canada's boyfriend didn't have anything to do with either of these things. Honestly. Let Canada screw Prussia for all he cared, and snuggle up close to him in front of the fireplace, and share shirts, and taste his food across the table all he wanted.

What America didn't like about Canada's boyfriend was the fact that ever since the two of them had started to do all of these things, Canada seemed to miraculously have grown a pair.

Never before had his younger twin stood up to him as much during meetings. Never had he been one of the nations to loudly oppose America. Not that that meant he'd _agreed _most of the time, but seeing as he didn't voice his opinion anyways, America had always taken that as an okay to count Canada's vote in favour of his proposition.

He couldn't do that any longer, that much was clear. And in every word Canada said, in every sideway glance at America, eyes as hard as steel as he spoke his mind in front of everyone at the World Meeting, openly disagreeing with his brother, he could see the influence of that damn beer-drinking leech. There was _nothing _positive in it for America that Prussia and Canada was going steady.

So, coming over to Canada's house as he'd always done on irregular occasions, he no longer enjoyed bunking up in front of the other blond's TV and replaying all of the old TV-games that he'd once gotten tired of and therefore passed on to his twin. Prussia was always there. Prussia was both in love with his own, annoying voice (really, America couldn't think of a single other person who talked as much as Prussia; not a _single person_) and he loved to play pranks on the older North American twin. America hated feeling stupid, because no one as genius as him should ever have to feel stupid, and Prussia seemed to be an expert at finding the things that made him feel like an idiot.

Today was no exception.

America had come over to discuss the plans for the yearly Christmas part with Canada – as in make Canada host it and thus pay the whole thing – and Prussia had instantly sat down to brag about his and Canada's trip to Germany earlier in the fall.

"And seriously, dude—" that was one of _America's _words, by the way "—y'should've seen him, he was like a black hole of something, downed beer after beer and could even out drink some o' West's folks." And then came the sentence which would seal America's fate for the evening. "I bet he could beat ya by at _least _three pints."

America looked up; he could no longer pretend to ignore the man. "Look, I dunno what rock fallen nations normally live under or anything, but you should really know after the time that's passed since you crawled out under yours that Canada can't outdrink me. Or out_do me _in any other way either."

The insult to his own self flew right over the German's head (America himself thought it was a pretty good one, and so does Canada seem to think, judging by the dark look he sent his twin over Prussia's shoulder) and Prussia grinned. "How much?"

"What?"

"How much do you plan on losing on that bet. 'Cause I'm telling ya, I've got full faith in the kid's ability. He's been trained in the best German techniques, by the most awesome of the awesome drinkers – that's me – for the entire year, and he proved himself during Octoberfest, not one month ago. And if you're too stupid to realize your crappy American shit-beer ain't got nothing to bring to the table, then I'm wonderin'; now much are you willing to lose?"

Prussia was still grinning at him as he finished his stupid ramble about his own and Canada's – _Canada's_, of all people – supposed superiority. America was speechless; the guy had some nerve, to sit there and not realize that he was actually insulting part of his own, amazing culture. He was the superior one, damn it; he was the one and only true _superpower _of the world. (China could shut his face; who cared about a few dollars anyway?)

And he had no problem proving it.

"Whatever you think you can be without from tonight on, _pal,_ because Canada is going _down_."

Canada tried to cut in - "Um, guys, can you _not _make your cock-measuring contest about me for once?" - but neither America nor Prussia would have any of that.

"How about your vote for my landmass in Seol?" Prussia said, shrugging casually, as if he didn't actually care. America, however, saw straight through the albino. Like he'd ever risk having to stand up for something he didn't believe in. Oh, no, that totally wasn't cool. And America was _always _cool.

"Out of the question. Politics are being kept out of this, or else y'can count me out," he said, shaking his head.

"What, is baby 'Merica scared of looooosing?" Prussia mocked. America furrowed his brow in annoyance at the tone, but decided to ignore it.

"How the hell'd you like to explain to the rest of the nations that _you _are voting against your _own _proposition, once _you've _lost, then? Huh? The entire vote'll be counted as useless once they've found out we betted on it, and I'll have to wait another half year to put ya in place once and for all."

"Hm," Prussia looked thoughtful. "No matter how much I hate to say it, I think you're right. No politics then. How about this, you'll deliberately lose every in sport where it's your team up against mine, for the next ten years?"

"You don't even _have _a team!" America protested. "In _any _sport!"

"My brother's team, my team, Canada's team, what's the fucking difference?" the ex-nation waved a hand in an indifferent gesture.

"And by the way, sports and politic is basically the same thing, nowadays," Canada said behind them. America glanced at him and realized that Canada was, in fact, not at all happy about the thought that if he won over America at drinking, every win he'd score against him elsewhere over the next ten years would be fake.

"True, that," Prussia nodded. "What, then?"

"…how about this," Canada said. "The one who wins get to dress the loser up, in whatever they want, take pictures, and show that to whoever they want."

"Ooooh, that's good!" Prussia said. "Then you can be—"

"…_and,_" Canada added, voice firm and eyes narrowed, "since _you're _the genius who signed me up for this, if I lose, _you're _the one who gets to dress up."

Now, the part about Prussia's influence on Canada that made him show his backbone around said ex-nation, America didn't dislike. So, while Prussia attempted (entirely in vain) to protest, America jumped up from the couch to throw a fist into the air and announce in a loud voice that:

"We're gonna make Vancouver dangerous tonight, fuck yeah!"

"—wait what, we're doing this at _my _place?"

* * *

And that was how it happened, that in the late afternoon of a particularly rainy and glum November day, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland received an email from Canada, which only read "YOU'VE GOTTA SEE THIS, FIARY BOY", which to England was rather mysterious, because Canada always treated him very respectfully, even after they'd started to openly disagree about his choice of partner. He figured he shouldn't dwell on the oddity of Canada's sudden tendency to call him by the awful nickname Prussia had once decided to give back in the day, since the source of the name was rather obvious, and instead he clicked one of the attached .JPG file.

-and almost choked on his biscuit, as an image of America filled the screen of his Packard Bell. (He'd once been given one of those new computers, a Mac, by his boss, but he'd never even gotten to unpacking the thing. Nothing that small could be trusted with the kind of important documents he had to keep on his computer – people claimed that the Macs had more capacity than any of the desktop computers on the market right now, but England insisted that anything that was so small that he wouldn't even _notice sitting on and breaking it_, could be considered a real computer.)

Not just any picture, however.

As America looked up at him, cheeks blushing hot pink and eyes filled to the rim with humiliation behind Texas. That was the only part of him that England could really recognize as the Nation America, because the America he knew would never, _ever, _put on anything like the outfit he was wearing in the picture. Everything, from the knee-high socks, to the way-too-short skirt, to the sailor-style blouse (which was also very much too short for America's tall, muscular upper body, and thus showed a good bit of the superpower's well toned belly), to the bow in his hair…

England was in shock. But not so much in shock that he was unable to click the next attached file, which showed America, in the same outfit, this time nibbling on what looked like an ice-cream cone, however he wasn't _treating _the cone like one normally did treat an ice-cream cone, and… The next image was of America leaning forward over an unfamiliar bed – it looked like the pictures had been taken in some kind of hotel room – glancing over his shoulder with a glare that could probably kill someone with too little balls, and England could definitely understand why he'd look so murderous, because the pose exposed his skirt-clad ass, and revealed the flower-printed panties underneath to anyone who wanted to see.

It was all too obvious that he had been set up. And England honestly didn't need to be reminded of Prussia's exclusive nickname to tell who was behind it.

And who hadn't stopped him from putting his America – "his" only referring to their alliance to break up Canada and Prussia, of course – in this god-awful, embarrassing situation. England was determined to ring Canada _right away _to let him know what he thought of him allowing his brother to be used for this kind of game.

…as soon as he'd taken care of a little problem which had decided to start growing without his consent the moment he'd seen America's vulnerable, panties clad state.

Um. Yes. Ring Canada later. Now, tissues.

* * *

End note: Yes, I do intend on there being strong USxUK hints here, but since this story is about Prussia and Canada, I'm not going to dig much deeper into the two's relationship. I think. Maybe.


	28. Meet the Pets

Part eight and a half: Meet the Pets

Word count: around 1260

Genre: humour

Rating: worksafe

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. For Darkheart510 for the Secret Santa Exchange at community (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) prussiaxcanada. **IMPORTANT TO KNOW BEFORE READING**: This takes place between the eighth chapter and the ninth.

* * *

Only a couple of days after Prussia's bird had found its way back to his master, now located in New Prussia, Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada, the chaos ensued in Canada's normally quiet home.

This day, it started early in the morning, so early the sun hadn't risen yet, actually, with a loud _DONK_, which woke up both Canada, and – amazingly enough – Prussia, where he lay in Canada's spare room. Canada was up and out of his room before the sound had even echoed out. Prussia took a while longer to emerge from his room, and as he did, he was yawning. For some reason which Canada couldn't quite understand, he came wobbling out into the corridor clutching his pillow in one hand, while rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other. He looked so much like an over-grown child, Canada found himself thinking about how adorable the former warrior-nation was before he could stop himself.

"Wha wazzat?" Prussia asked, still yawning.

"I don't know, but…"

He was interrupted by another sound; this time, a _CRASH_ resonated through Canada's house. The two nations at the top of the stairs jumped high, and Prussia dropped his pillow. The albino stared, eyes wild and hair in disarray, at his host nation.

"Robbers?" he whispered loudly.

Canada shook his head. "Kumarilyn would have alerted me if someone was breaking in," he said.

Prussia stared at him.

"Kumawho?"

Canada hushed him as another sound, a strange dragging, heavy and irregular, reached them where they stood. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled, and he unconsciously took a couple of steps closer to the other man, seeking comfort in his presence. The noise reminded him of something, something America had forced him to watch with him several years back, something…

"What is this, a bad horror movie?" Prussia asked, no longer attempting to keep his voice down. Canada jumped and whirled around to face him.

"Don't talk so loudly!" he hissed, eyes wide and scared behind his glasses. "It'll hear us!"

Prussia let out a loud, barking laughter. "It? Seriously, kid, I know you n' yer brother are a couple of pussies, but this ain't no tacky scary movie, and like you said, the bear'd have warned us if someone got into the house."

"It could've already gotten Kumamonkey!"

"Kuma_who_? …even if that was the case, my bird would have woken me up, there's not a single thief - _or horror movie character_ - who would've cared to silence a _bird_."

"Maybe not, but…"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Okay, how about this; I go down and check the first floor—"

"No!" Canada protested. "No wandering off on your own, that's what get people in horror movies killed!"

"Fine, then you come with me."

Canada swallowed. "O-okay," he said.

As they walked down the stairs, they could still hear the sound of _something_ moving around downstairs. At first, it sounded like this something was right below them, in the hallway. But then, a moment later, Something bumped against the furniture in the living room. And then, as they reached the final steps (Canada was shaking like a leaf and clinging to Prussia as this point), the sounds moved along into the kitchen. Prussia nudged at the blond nation to back off from him a bit. Canada complied, however not happily.

"I'll go first and check it out," Prussia declared. Canada shook his head fervently.

"N-no!" he squeaked, instantly embarrassed by the way his tone of voice had risen from the fear. He cleared his throat. "No," he said, more firmly, touching Prussia's gloved hand. "We'll go together."

He wouldn't say it out loud, ever, but he was actually a bit worried about the effect a direct assault would have on the other. He himself was pretty hardy – it came with the whole embodiment of a country thing – but Prussia wasn't a nation anymore. And until only a few months ago, he'd been fading, even.

Prussia grunted his approval, and together, the two of them edged closer to the kitchen door. Canada barely dared to breathe.

As the two men stepped inside the room, the small bird which was Prussia's almost constant companion, raised its beak from the giant puddle which covered the better part of Canada's kitchen table and floor. It greeted them with a chirp. Canada blinked.

Underneath the table sat Kumajirou, and as the nation and his protégé bent down to have a closer look, the polar bear lowered the can he'd been holding and drinking from, to look at the two. He was rather cross-eyed and seemed to have a problem focusing on hist master. When he finally did, he dropped the can entirely, and rose to his four feet. As he moved closer to Canada and Prussia, his paws dragged against the floor, claws clattering. They instantly recognized the sound which had woken them up.

"Kuma…" Canada started skeptically, staring down at his pet as the bear stopped right before him and sat heavily back down on his behind. The animal raised his arms in a motion that clearly stated that he wanted to be picked up.

And then he hiccupped.

Prussia exploded in a fit of laughter.

"Oh fuck, this can't be _real_," the ex-nation barked. "Man, your bear's _drunk_, I can't fucking believe it!"

Canada was still staring at his clearly intoxicated pet. Kumajirou kept holding his arms up, waiting to be lifted. When his master didn't make a move as if to pick him up, he lowered them again, a disappointed look on his face. He was swaying back and forth.

From the table, the bird chirped once more, and spread it's tiny wings. With a few hopping steps, it reached the edge of the table, and flew down to settle on top of Kumajirou's head. Once settled, it burrowed itself into the bear's fuzzy fur, and chirped again. Canada had never seen a bird look so content.

Kumajirou hiccupped.

Prussia roared with laughter.

Canada looked at his kitchen. There were opened cans of beer everywhere – at least twenty of them – and there was no mistaking what the puddle came from. The whole room reeked of alcohol.

Kumajirou hiccupped again.

Prussia fought to get air but seemed to have difficulties.

Canada turned around to face the laughing albino. "I am going back to bed. When I come back down here in the morning, I had better find _my kitchen_ clean and smelling nothing like alcohol. And I'm not cleaning up any messes that Kumakent makes."

Prussia interrupted himself halfway through an extra loud "hahaha".

"—ha-_hey_, why do _I_ have to clean up after _you_ bear's party?"

Canada gave him a Look. "Who's influence do you think that is?" he asked darkly.

"Hell if I know. It's not like my little fella can open the cans or anyth—"

Here he interrupted himself, because as he spoke, the bird had gotten off of Kumajirou and flewn back onto the table, where it settled on top of a beer can. Then, with a power one would never have expected from such a little animal, it tore the lid of the container, pushed the can so hard if toppled over, and dove straight for the beer now pouring out to join the rest of the flood on Canada's kitchen table and floor.

Canada gave Prussia another Look.

"Your poultry," he said, "is bad influence."

Prussia couldn't agree less. It's not his fault that Canada's pet has low tolerance, now is it?

* * *

Note the second: I wanted to apologize to the recipient for this gift, for turning this into a part of my own story. I really couldn't help it; when I read the prompt, it started to practically write itself in my mind ^^; And I had _so much fun_ writing it, so thank you!


	29. Laundry Day part 2

Part twenty-eight: The Day Canada Realized Why Laundry Day is Such a Big Deal

Word count: around 1600

Genre: smut. and smut. and more smut.

Rating:_ not worksafe_

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. LONGEST CHAPTER NAME EVER. Also this is the first complete sex scene I've ever written, so go easy on me, please. **IMPORTANT NOTE**: I will not be posting the entire smut scene to ff dot net, as this is against the rules of the site. Instead, there will be a link to my journal, for those who want to read the really naughty part of the chapter.

* * *

Canada had never been able to figure out why Prussia hated it so much every time Canada announced that he was going to have to collect all the dirty clothes from wherever his fair-haired boyfriend had thrown them about, because he was spending the rest of the day doing laundry. Really, to him it didn't seem like Prussia had that much to complain about; Canada never asked him to help out (after a few first devastating attempts to have Prussia do his own laundry), and Prussia ended up with a full set of clean, nice smelling clothes without putting any effort in himself.

Also, for some reason, doing laundry always seemed to lead to some other, less cleanly activities, in various locations of whichever's house they were in. It wasn't unusual that Canada had to spend the entire _next _day cleaning the _house _as well.

And, since Prussia often showed more fervour and enjoyment during these particular days, Canada really couldn't figure out what the deal was.

Until one day.

Prussia had offered to help his host nation to at least hang up the laundry on this particular day. Since Canada has once seen Prussia's attempts at "hanging up the laundry", he knew he'd have to supervise the albino's work. Maybe even re-do it once to make sure none of the shirts and socks would fall down on the floor in the laundry room the moment the two of them left it.

Canada was in the room setting the laundry machine for another go as Prussia came walking in after him. That morning, when the two of them checked their drawers, Prussia had come to realize that he had, in fact, not a single clean garment to put on. Not even underwear. Canada had sighed and offered him his own closet to choose from, before he left the room to get the laundry started.

Prussia joined him ten minutes later.

Dressed in nothing but Canada's national hockey team's match shirt.

All of a sudden, Canada's throat felt very dry.

"I found this, hey, ain't it cool!" Prussia said, twisting the shirt in his grip to have a better look at the red and white markings. Canada attempted to swallow to dampen his mouth once more, but when he caught a glimpse of what was underneath the hockey shirt – or rather, _wasn't _under the hockey shirt – the swallow turned into a cough.

"P-prussia?" Canada attempted. He thought it sounded mostly like "eh-eh-arhem?" himself, but it caught the albino's attention none the less. The next attempt at talking went a little better. "Wh-why aren't you w-wearing your und… derwear?"

"Mine's in the laundry, duh!" Prussia pointed out, shrugging.

"What about mine?"

"I'm not wearing another dude's fucking undies," the albino answered. "Not even yours, kid."

Canada clenched his hand around the tank top he was holding to keep it from shaking. He was finding it a bit hard to concentrate on the words he wanted to get through his gritted teeth. Prussia's legs, sticking out from under the white and red hockey shirt, was very distracting. He attempted to avert his eyes, searching for safer regions which to have his attention claimed by, but that just either led him to Prussia's mussed, colourless hair, or the hickey shirt.

The damned _hockey shirt_.

The blond barely had the time to lift his eyes – with much hardship – to Prussia's face, before that one face was quite a bit closer to his than it had been the previous second. Canada kept himself from jumping backwards and bumping his hip hard against the washing machine by some miracle, but he couldn't help gasping from Prussia's sudden advance.

"Hey, you…" Prussia begun, and Canada felt a small shudder trace the length of his spine. "You _like_ this, don'tcha?" he continued, the corners of his lips twisting upwards into a knowing smirk. "You like seeing me dressed in noting but _your _colours, marked by _your _flag, just like any conquering nation would." Prussia took one step even closer to the blond nation, causing the hem of the shirt to shift against Canada's own clothes. He could feel the heat of Prussia's body through the minimal distance still kept between them, as the albino continued, adding a pause after every word; "You. Want. To. Conquer. My. Vital. Regions."

* * *

**READ THE REST**: exorcistor (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) 91357 (dot) html

* * *

It took them almost five minutes to collect themselves, and by that time, the laundry machine had completed the program, and was standing silent before them, as if it was offended by what had just occurred on top of it. Canada moved reluctantly and nudged Prussia to do the same.

"We should go get you a new change of clothes," he said.

"I ain't fucking goin' anywhere," Prussia grumbled. "You go get me something."

"Okay, fine. But you're not getting to borrow any more of my match shirts. Those are collectibles, you know?"

"Who the hell cares?" Prussia stuck out his tongue, but then he grinned. "I'll just save 'em for special occasions, eh?"."

Canada thought that he finally what it was that made Prussia wince every time he realized that he'd ran out of clean clothes to wear.

* * *

End note: Sorry about the inconvenience, guys. But I'd rather be cautious like this than to have the whole story reported and taken down.


	30. Last on the Agenda part 2

Part twenty-nine: Last on The Agenda part 2

Word count: around 2500

Genre: general, drama

Rating: worksafe_  
_

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. I bet y'guys had almost forgotten what the plot was about by now, huh?

* * *

"…and that is why _ren min di_ should be the new world currency, aru," China concluded his twenty minutes long speech.

Prussia yawned, and then had to scramble to shift positions as his chair made a move dangerously close to tipping backwards. Inwardly he cursed the chair – and Korea, for having been the one to come up with the idea of the designer furniture for the G-20 summit room in Seoul. It was absolutely useless to rock on these chairs. Then he got distracted as a he caught a glance of America, who was seated almost directly in front of the ex-nation (soon to be nation again-nation, Prussia reminded himself in his mind). America's shoulders were shaking with mirth, most likely from having seen Prussia's problems with balancing the chair.

Instead of grumbling or lashing out, however, Prussia smirked and waved to the other north-American with the miniature New Prussian flag he was carrying to the meeting. America's grin was instantly transformed into a sour face. Prussia smiled wider.

At the top of the table, China was looking around the room, shining with pride and self-confidence. Prussia couldn't care less if the new world currency was voted to be _ben min gi_ or _man mon me_ or _do re mi_ or what the fuck ever; he just wanted this motion to be _done with _already so that they could move on to more important things.

The _most _important thing ever voted for, even. In his own opinion, anyway.

Beside him, sitting by his own miniature flag (not self-manufactured), Canada wasn't fiddling with his notes, or even nervously glancing up and down along the table, like Prussia would have expected him to. Instead, he was sitting straight-backed, facing straight ahead towards the Asian nation's seats, listening intently to whatever China and Japan (or Korea, but most of the nations ignored Korea's badly drawn grids anyway) had to say about their beloved _do re mi_ and _yan_. He seemed determined and even _confident _in a way that reassured Prussia that he was indeed more than ready to stand up for the two of them. It made him feel rather safe and happy to have Canada by his side.

Germany had already given his (even _longer_ than China's) speech about Euro, which was enthusiastically applauded by the rest of the European Nations. No one had cared about England and his Pounds, and Sweden's speech about Krona had been mostly inaudible anyway. America was sulking and refused to talk about the American Dollar, since it should be obvious already that this entire motion to pick a new world currency was just bogus either way. It seemed like the discussions were finally winding down so that they might come to the conclusion that every nation was too partial to vote for a new world currency and leave the decision to their respective leaders, who were holding their own G-20 summit in a separate room on a different floor.

Despite the fact that they all knew that the nations wouldn't be able to come to anything even similar to a conclusion, they all gave negotiations their best shot. As in, when France and England had finally stopped trying to tear each other's hair out, and Russia had scared at least fifteen other nations from their wits, while Turkey was threatening half of the rest to their lives and scalps and cursed their mothers, they all finally managed to settle down and draw a big, red line over the motion for a change of world currency.

That meant it was Canada's turn to stand up.

His hands were steady as he gestured to the rest of the assembled nations to look to the folders he'd already handed out at the first day of the summit.

"As you can see…" he begun, and his voice held only a faint tremble of nervousness, "I have taken the task of analysing the effect that the foundation of a new nation in North America would have on the world economy very seriously, as requested by all of the nations present."

And he had, Prussia knew. During the months since the last G-20 summit, Canada had worked almost every waking hour to complete his research, only sleeping and eating and taking necessary pauses when Prussia bugged him to. The only reason the North American nation had come with him to celebrate Oktoberfest was that by that time, the survey was all but completely put together, the results double checked a hundred times by a hundred of Canada's finest professors. Prussia was sick and tired of the damn analysis. He still didn't see where the fucking problem lay in him having his own landmass once again; in his time, one totally hadn't even asked for permission before grabbing parts off of one another, and Canada was even giving up New Prussia willingly!

But, he guessed that if he was to be a part of the modern world, one had to follow the rules of modern politics, no matter how boring they may be.

While Prussia was grumbling over the drawn-out procedure, Canada had finished his review, and was now urging the rest of the G-20 to give their opinions on the motion.

"I believe," Germany said (the blond nation had already early during the meeting taken on the role of Acting Chairman, as Korea had become even less serious in his task once the meeting was held on his own soil), "that it would be of our common interest to keep this on a national level, instead of bringing human opinions into the discussion. And since that is the usual result when we discuss sensitive matters related to economics up amongst ourselves…" this time he glanced venomously at China, who pointedly ignored his look in favour of taking along sip of the tea he had brought to the meeting himself, "I suggest that we bring this to a close by voting. If no one else has a better proposal, that is."

"I think it's a good idea, mister Germany," India piped up. "If we do this, no one is going to get a chance to cheat, or sway another's emotion. It is fair." He nodded his assent.

Some other nations nodded with him. All of the G-20 countries were used to relying on votes to make important decisions, and so Germany's decision was quickly accepted and judged fair.

…only, someone forgot to mention how smart it would have been to keep the vote anonymous.

In their enthusiasm to get this done with so that they could finally put an end to the meeting and go back home to the hotel and relax, they decided on the quickest way possible to finish the vote; a show of hands.

There were nine hands in the air in favour of Canada's motion. Amongst them were Canada himself, France, Italy (who had grabbed his brother's hand and pulled it up along with his before the Southern half of the nation had had any time to protest – he did it very loudly in retrospective instead) and Russia, who gave a big, bright but chilly smile as America glared daggers at him. Hungary winked encouragingly at the two of them as she rose a delicate hand in the air; Prussia smiled thankfully back at her.

But then, twenty nine hands rose towards the ceiling when Korea called out the unavoidable "Those _not _in favour?".

England and America's hands were amongst them. No one had expected differently. Neither had anyone thought that Japan would have the guts to vote against America (it had been obvious that he'd waited to see if Canada's brother raised his hand during the voting in favour of the proposition, before he dared to move his own arm).

But Prussia had not expected Germany to raise his hand together with them.

His heart sank like a stone as he saw his younger brother's unwavering limb. For a moment, the room seemed to spin all around him, and it was a good thing head stopped rocking his chair already, or he might have toppled over.

He couldn't believe it. His own _brother _voted against his existence.

Sure he'd expected Germany to be heavily influenced by logic, and the suggested change in the economical balance in the world _was _difficult to comprehend, but Canada had explained the possibilities hadn't he? Actually, screw the possibilities; Prussia was his _brother_. How could he _do _that to him?

Together with his heart, his body sunk deep into the uncomfortable designer chair. He ignored the fact that his vision was swimming; he'd never felt so betrayed in his life.

Beside him, Canada was once again standing up in his chair, talking in a loud, upset voice which sounded more like America's than his own, yelling over the table at his brother and "father", pointing accusingly at Germany and every other nation who had voted against them. Prussia stared at him. Canada seemed to glow with fighting spirit, promising the rest of the world that this wasn't over; they were fools if they thought that they could dismiss them this easily.

Prussia blinked. What was he doing, just sitting there? It was like the energy had simply been sucked out of him; he felt no fighting spirit what so ever. Instead, it was Canada – quiet, timid little Canada – who was defending his sorry ass.

What the fuck was going on?

* * *

As they left the summit room, Prussia was already beginning to form a plan in his mind. He was staring at his feet where he walked beside Canada, too caught up in what he had discovered to have time to look where he placed his own two feet. Instead he just followed Canada's lead, all while he instinctively realised that this; this was also part of it all. He had fallen into a habitual pattern which wasn't him, which wasn't _them. _

_I wonder if this is what West noticed,_ he thought, glancing behind him at the rest of the nations exiting the room. Most of them were assembling in little groups, discussing either the outcome of the meeting, or what they were going to do during the rest of their stay in Seoul. Germany was standing together with Austria and Hungary, looking straight past them as the ex-spouses talked. Prussia met his icy blue eyes steadily.

America was calling Canada across the corridor, but the younger of the North America's ignored him and kept walking towards the elevator. As America's shoulders slumped, England placed a hand on one of them. Prussia couldn't make out what they were saying, and he didn't care either. He turned back towards Canada.

"So," he said. "What do we do now? Got another plan, kid?"

Canada shook his head, face set and eyes serious. "I'll keep trying," he said. "I'll continue to put in a motion every year, and I'll keep working on the charts. I'll do more research. They won't be able to forget about us, and one day they won't be able to ignore our right to feel what we want and do what we have to to oblige by _their_ stupid rules!"

Prussia shrugged. Not even Canada's conviction could bring him any comfort. Actually, it was the opposite. "It'll just be like France's motion for an international Naked Day," he pointed out. "Something that's been going on for so long no one gives a damn anymore."

Canada made a face. "I'm not giving up," he mumbled. "England can oppose however much he wants to; one day I'll have worked out a plan of action that is so solid that they won't have anything more to complain about. I just had too little time to prepare this time."

"…sure you had, liebling." Prussia raised a hand to ruffle Canada's hair affectionately. Then he let the same hand slide down the soft locks, until the touch became a caress, and he stepped a little closer to his host nation, leaning in to capture the younger nation's lips in a kiss. If anyone had any objections, he'd be happy to hear them out loud. That's give him a good reason to show them all who they were playing with.

(When had he ever even _needed _a reason before?)

To his own surprise, Canada responded to the kiss with fervour. Normally, the North American nation was rather reserved when it came to showing affection in public, but today, he not only met Prussia half-way, but he soon took over to dominate the kiss, twining his hands around Prussia's neck and pulling the albino flush against him. When they finally pulled apart for air, Canada cast a glance over Prussia's shoulder at England and America, who had interrupted their conversation and were now looking like lightning had just struck their vital regions. When Canada was sure he'd caught their attention, he _smirked_.

"That ought to show them", Canada said.

"Show them what", Prussia asked, head still spinning from the suddenness of the kiss.

"That we're not ashamed," Canada explained. "That they can try to stop us all they want, but we're still going to be together."

"Oh," Prussia said intelligently. "Uh, yeah. That ought to show them."

Them, and every other nation in the G-20, he added in his mind. As they turned to walked the last few steps to the elevator, they could hear a choir of whistles (France and Spain, until Romano elbowed the former in the ribs) and catcalls (Korea, Hungary, Turkey and Denmark). With such an appreciative audience, Prussia was almost tempted to turn around and bow graciously, but Canada's hand in his was trembling, so he held on, walking beside the man who was ready to give up everything that earned him a group of people to call "family", just for Prussia.

Fuck if Prussia was going to be the lesser of the two of them.

* * *

The next morning, Canada woke up to an empty bed in an empty hotel room. Neither Prussia nor his suitcase was anywhere to be seen; instead he found a note on the pillow beside his. Luckily, Kumajirou hadn't chewed on it too much, and the hastily scribbled words were still mostly readable.

_Matthew. _

_Thanks. I had an awesome time. Don't wait up for me, I won't be back for a while._

_G._

That was the last anyone heard from Prussia in a long, long time.

* * *

End note: ONE CHAPTER (+ one extra chapter + one side-story) LEFT TO GO


	31. The Birth of Awesome Town part 1

Part thirty: The Birth of Awesome Town

Word count: around 1200

Genre: general, drama

Rating: worksafe_  
_

Note: New Prussia is a geographic location in Wilmot Township, Waterloo Region, Ontario, Canada. Look it up on Wiki if you wanna. Read end note for author's rambling ;)

* * *

The flight had been the longest in his life, for certain, and at the moment, Canada wasn't sure that it had been worth the effort. During the bigger part of the trip, Canada had felt the urge to bite his nails for the first time in… well, centuries, to be quite honest. (France had been very strict on his no-biting policy, and preached the importance of smooth, flawless hands to his young colony for so long that Canada had begun to tune him out, despite his honest efforts not to do so. Then he had realized, of course, that France had in fact tuned _him_ out a long time ago, and was now just preaching for his own sake.)

Either way, Canada had had to dig his nails hard into the armrests of his chair in order to keep his hands away from his mouth. America had noticed, and of course chosen to interpret that as he wished, and teased his younger brother for being a wimp who had developed a fear of flying in old age. Canada had just glared back at the other nation, not trusting his voice not to crack if he answered, which would only make the teasing worse.

Because there was no way America – with his inability to interpret even the most obvious atmospheric changes amongst his companions – would be able to figure out the actual reason why Canada's face grew more and more pale in the co-pilot's seat of the other North American's private jet. And that might be just as good.

Then, much to Canada's surprise, as they were just about to step off the plane onto German soil, America reached up to ruffle his brother's hair.

"Don't worry, 'kay bro? I'm sure he'll be thrilled to—OH HEY, ENG—ARTHUR! HOW DID YER LEGS HOLD OUT DURING TH' FLIGHT, OLD MAN?"

As that had been about the only comfort anyone bothered to offer Canada ever since the invitation to the new German Province of Prussia had landed like a bomb in his mailbox, he was more than ready to accept it. Canada let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and followed America down the stairs at a much calmer pace.

At first Canada had thought that someone was playing a very bad joke on his expense, but as he started to get phone calls from his closest ones (all of whom demanded an explanation to all of this; it had taken him a lot of time to assure them that he was just as clueless at everyone else), he realized that while yes, Prussia probably would go out of his way to play such a horrible joke on the rest of the world, Germany would not.

No matter how composed he looked on the outside – to those who bothered to look, that was; England for example had yet to even acknowledge Canada's presence amongst them, and France was busy ducking Hungary's mighty swing after some comment directed at Austria – his heart was still beating at a pace that made him feel like it was winter Olympics 2010 all over again. Before he knew it, him and the rest of them, a company of six nations , from the airport to the presumed Province of Prussia.

He was still fighting the urge to gnaw his nails off all the way to the bone, he noticed, squeezed into the backseat, between Hungary and Austria. Ever since the invitation, composed and signed by Germany had arrived at his home, a thousand different scenarios had been played through his mind non-stop. Even as he slept, he saw himself reunited with his former protégé, each new one worse than the other, each one a little bit more confusion and surreal than the last (the most confusing one was probably the one with the time machine, and – for some mysterious reason – a dinosaur on which the albino came riding towards Canada ).

Reality was nothing like anything he had imagined. (Luckily, in the case with the dinosaur.)

After a quick, efficient and explaining tour of the little town, lead by Germany – who had the ever-smiling Italy seemingly glued to his arm – they decided to wind down at one of the local pubs.

"So what, exactly, is it that you are attempting to accomplish here?" England asked Germany over his pint, thick brows furrowed in a way that made his expression look like doomsday – at least it did to Canada.

"Well…" Germany shrugged. "He needed to be connected to a physical landmass, as we all do. What else is family for, if not to help out during times of struggle?" He cast a glance at Canada, where he was seated in one of the corners of the table, and then raised an eyebrow at England as he turned his clear, unrelenting blue eyes back to the European nation. England made a face of dislike.

"I'll have you know, that I have never during my entire history, put myself before my closest family—"

"Hey, man seriously, I mean _seriously_, don'tcha think ya should be real fuckin' careful about what you say next? I don't want the history of Awesome Town to start out bein' tainted by the next great uprising of the pubertal ex-colony against the fallen empire of _stick-up-his-ass_."

And suddenly, he was right there, standing behind Italy, looking down at the seated group, his mouth twisted into the usual, cocky, canine-showing grin. Canada's vision blurred. The others seemed to still be talking, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Prussia was alive.

And he was _right in front of him_.

"-at the hell is wrong with Awesome Town, if I _may_ ask the mighty herr Eyebrows?"

"_Everything_ is wrong with it. Do you have any idea how offensive that name is? You cannot bloody call it Awesome Town!"

"Yeah, like your name doesn't offend anyone _Great Britney of I-wanna-rule-everything-I-lay-my-eyes-on; not-that-you-could-tell-since-my-eyes-aren't-even-visible-under-my-eyebrows_."

"It's _Britain_!" England practically shrieked. At his corner of the table, France was laughing so hard he was folded double at the waist. Prussia threw him a thumbs up once the blond man was calmed enough to take in the world around him again. France beamed back at his long time not-quite-friend.

"Oh, _Pruss_e, I never did believe that I would 'ear these words from my own mouth, but I have missed you, _mon cher_. Angleterre," he continued, gesturing to England, who had been pulled away to a corner of the pub by America, as the taller nation was apparently trying to calm his fuming boyfriend, with surprisingly big success, "'as been absolutely _impossible_ to 'andle ever since 'e got 'is 'ands on 'is Prince _Charment_, rubbing it in my face like 'es the first person on this earth to get some well sculpted American ass… 'Onestly, it's been _painful_ to watch."

"Oh, _eeew_," Prussia wrinkled his nose. "I don't even wanna think of Eyebrows and sex. Once is enough to know that's not a position most would enjoy to be in, seriously what is the runt _thinking_, signing up for a full time experience of that."

"My sentiment _precisely_," France agreed.

That was about when Austria finally registered the weight on his should and realized that Canada had slumped over in his seat, unconscious.

* * *

Note the second: I was planning on posting this _months_ ago, but found that I just couldn't. There were too many things in this chapter that I didn't feel were thought-through enough, and it also hurt me a bit to think that it would be the final chapter. I've also had to struggle a lot with _how _to write this chapter, as I normally stick to my more light-hearted, humorous style, but that really didn't suit the bigger part of this instalment. Thus, I finally decided to _split the last chapter into two_, and see if I could find a way to work around the problem that way. It's not over yet, people!


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